


A Marriage of Convenience

by hollyand



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood Magic, Costume Parties & Masquerades, Drunken Confessions, Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Smut, Evil Hawke (Dragon Age), F/M, Humor, Light-Hearted, Marriage of Convenience, Married Sex, Modern Kirkwall (Dragon Age), Pining, Politics, Post-Dragon Age II, Spies & Secret Agents, Templar Carver Hawke, The Black Emporium Exchange
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-07
Updated: 2020-09-07
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:28:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 20,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26276431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hollyand/pseuds/hollyand
Summary: Garrett Hawke, the scion of the Amell family and CEO of Hawke Enterprises, has political ambitions – and one of those involves marrying off his ex-Templar brother Carver to make their family more respectable and smooth his promotion to Viscount.Meanwhile Merrill, a Dalish apostate, is in Modern Kirkwall spying on Hawke on behalf of Keeper Marethari – even though she frequently gets lost.So when Carver and Merrill agree to marry for convenience for a while – Merrill to complete her mission more easily, Carver to rebel against his brother – and later annul the marriage for non-consummation, theymightfind that maybe,just maybe, their convenient arrangement might not all go as planned…
Relationships: Carver Hawke/Merrill
Comments: 89
Kudos: 46
Collections: Black Emporium 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [amarmeme](https://archiveofourown.org/users/amarmeme/gifts).



> A canon-divergent fic set in modern-day Kirkwall attempting to answer the question: What if Hawke never delivered Flemeth's amulet to the Sabrae clan on Sundermount, and never recruited Merrill?
> 
> Warning for a fight using blood magic in the first chapter, but everything else should be (mostly?) light-hearted slow-burn shippy goodness after that. As well as Merrill swinging off chandeliers like she does at the Hawke Estate if you romance her.
> 
> Thank you so much to both my wonderful beta-readers [Lucyrne](https://archiveofourown.org/users/theungenue) and [Cullenlovesmen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cullenlovesmen), without whom this fic would be not be what it is. Thank you so much for your support and help and advice and making my writing far better than it was to start with - and, when I knocked out 14k words in one day on Deadline Day, thank you for whipping what I produced into shape. You guys put in so much hard work and went above and beyond!

_If she could just find what she was looking for – she was so close, so nearly there… just a little while longer…_

The worst thing about being a Dalish elf in Hightown, Merrill thought as she frowned at the array of doors along the corridor in front of her, was not the way upper-class humans looked down on you for being there in a role other than servant.

No – the worst thing about being a Dalish elf in Hightown was constantly getting lost and not being able to find what you wanted. 

Or – maybe that was just her.

And now, here she was, in the Hightown headquarters of Hawke Enterprises at last, having taken far longer than Keeper Marethari liked to find the building in question, although at least this time she had a map of the building to locate the exact office she needed to search. She had chosen a poor night for a raid: Hawke Enterprises appeared to be having a fancy evening _soirée_ to celebrate some _shemlen_ business thing or other (she could hear the clink of champagne glasses), and there had been far more security staff to slip past than Merrill had anticipated.

It was difficult enough when you had as poor a sense of direction as Merrill did, but it was even worse when security was so tight. It took longer than she hoped to get inside, walking round and round the building, watching all of well-dressed Hightown arrive; but, thankfully, consulting the layout plan helped Merrill locate another way in, less guarded and with fewer people around. 

Merrill squeezed her little self in through the slightly ajar door. At least _that_ had been the hardest part of her mission so far: the security guards seemed more concerned with watching for interlopers at the event, not interlopers on the upper floors where Merrill was headed. Nevertheless, Merrill hit the two guards in the area with a sleep spell to guarantee that they would slumber while she entered the building unseen.

The Sabrae Clan of Dalish elves would usually have had skills enough between them for this mission, if the Keeper had not needed her remaining agents for other clan-related needs. Instead they had Merrill, rubbish spy extraordinaire, who had spent her first three years living in the Kirkwall Alienage getting so hopelessly lost that it was a wonder that Keeper Marethari still allowed her to carry on, despite constantly throwing her hands up in despair at Merrill’s inability to complete her years-long mission.

Merrill had got lost in this building enough times trying to steal what she needed to. She had conducted more than enough failed break-ins to know her way around this place by now – the only good thing that had come of those numerous failed break-ins. The tight dark outfit she was wearing to hide who she was, complete with the black mask that showed nothing but her eyes – not even her _vallaslin_ – had seen enough use by now, and Merrill was determined that this was the last time she’d have to use such a hot and uncomfortable disguise. (The shoes _in particular_ were ones she couldn’t wait to get rid of.)

But even if there were no guards on the floor where Garrett Hawke’s spacious office was, it was as if they had been expecting her. Merrill used a small Mind-Blast through her gloves to open the door to the room the Keeper had marked on the map – she had no lockpicking skills, but her magic had been enough to get her by so far – and immediately felt the pull of something from the floor on her magic: glyphs had been laid down on the plush carpet to repel or paralyse any intruders. 

‘Someone’s laying traps,’ Merrill mused to herself.

The glyphs could only have been from Garrett Hawke himself, the city’s most prominent aristocrat apostate and CEO of the multi-million sovereign corporation Hawke Enterprises, with political ambitions to become Kirkwall’s new Viscount and therefore ruler. Only _he_ could have cast Glyphs of Paralysis and Repulsion this powerful; for it was said Hawke’s Creation tree spells were as powerful as any the notorious renegade mage Anders could cast, back when he was alive.

Kirkwall had never been a safe city for mages, especially apostates. Yet somehow Hawke had survived and thrived in a locale that was so overrun by the Templar Order, and their tendency to cage their mages in the Gallows, that ‘City of Chains’ was very much _not_ a misnomer for the place. The Keeper was forever telling Merrill to watch herself, for it would be tricky to break her out of the Gallows if she was ever caught on her mission – and _that_ was if she actually lived to tell the tale.

Unlike Merrill, however, Garrett Hawke was as ruthless as he was charming. It surprised nobody that he rose to power like he had – rumour had it that when the Chantry explosion occurred, Hawke had not hesitated to execute his old friend Anders in the hope that it would be politically expedient with the new Crown Prince of Starkhaven, Sebastian Vael, whom Hawke hoped would help bankroll his new political career.

And now, here Merrill was, in Hawke Enterprises HQ, on behalf of one of the many people Hawke had screwed over on his way to the top – her own clan and Keeper. Given how many years it had taken Merrill to get as far as this in the first place, and given how close she was to finding the right office on what she knew was the right floor, Merrill had no intention of doing anything else other than single-mindedly succeeding at her task – and taking back from Hawke what was rightfully the clan’s.

Merrill frowned while she studied the circular glyphs on the floor, glowing green and purple in the dark and making really rather pretty patterns now that they had revealed themselves. Would casting a magical barrier around herself set them off? Or was she slim enough to risk slipping past them? Her eyes had long adjusted to the dark, but she hadn’t expected these glyphs. Mint-green and lilac swirls of light cast faint shadows on the dark walls and ceiling, competing with the light of the full moon beaming silver into the darkened room, beautiful enough to belie the threat they contained.

Would dispelling the glyphs work? She decided not to risk it.

Merrill looked up; there was, for some reason, a chandelier on the ceiling, which was enough to confirm to her that this was indeed the flashy, larger-than-life Garrett Hawke’s office.

Well. This would be easy, then. She jumped on top of a side-table, onto a nearby cupboard, swung off the chandelier and landed lightly on his desk. Even if her sense of direction was poor, Merrill was nothing if not adventurous and agile, and those were traits which had served her well so far – even if it _had_ meant she’d frequently ended up in places that nobody could ever figure out how she’d ended up in, like the former Viscount’s bathing-room and his private gardens, as well as the late Grand Cleric’s airing cupboard.

As she landed, quiet and cat-like on the desk, the glyphs glowed brighter, almost brighter than the moon that shone through the window. Merrill worried she had been detected – but then the intensity subsided, and she exhaled with relief. She hopped off the polished oak table-top and started to search: papers, documents, drawers; anything that indicated where Hawke had stored the amulet that Keeper Marethari had been waiting for. After nearly seven years the Keeper had long grown impatient – if not outright angry – that Hawke had not fulfilled his end of the bargain all this time.

Hawke had been tasked with delivering the amulet to the Keeper on behalf of Asha’bellanar – whom the humans called Flemeth, Merrill knew – who had supposedly helped him come to Kirkwall to find fame and fortune in the first place. As time went on and Clan Sabrae continued to wait near Sundermount for Hawke, it was clear that Hawke had decided he wasn’t going to bother fulfilling the promise he’d made in exchange for his safety and success all those years ago.

Keeper Marethari insisted she could not leave Sundermount without the amulet, for it contained a spell of some sort (Merrill wasn’t sure what; the Keeper could be infuriatingly vague about these things) that would enable the Keeper herself to fulfil her end of a promise she had made to Asha’bellanar many years before Merrill had even been born. It was all very confusing.

Almost as confusing as the documents on the desk she was searching. Merrill tried not to rifle through the papers _too_ loudly – she didn’t want to want to bring the guards into the office – she wanted to avoid a fight if she could help it, although the drawers in the desk were so heavy it was almost impossible to slide them out silently.

‘If I were Garrett Hawke,’ Merrill murmured to herself, ‘where would I keep an amulet pulsing with old, elven magic? _Think_ , Merrill! What would you do?’

The silent, darkened office held no answer. Merrill continued to rifle through drawers and papers, even the office itself. Until, at last, she hit upon something that could only be a combination safe. Merrill did not know what the code was likely to be – but she decided to use her magic to see if she could detect something that felt like a magic amulet inside it first.

A distant thud attracted her attention, prompting her to spin around, ears perked. Seeing nothing except the darkened room around her, with the office door still closed and the glyphs glowing on the floor, Merrill turned back to the safe and placed her hand upon it, murmuring a spell under her breath. It detected nothing magical inside the safe, and therefore was not worth breaking open.

However, as she withdrew her hand, her eye caught on a note on the floor, and she bent down to pick it up.

_Bodahn,_

_Not safe to leave the old witch’s amulet here. Suspect she’s sending spies after me to retrieve it. Move it back to the Estate._

_Garrett_

Merrill’s heart sank. So all this time – all this planning – had been useless; the amulet wasn’t here after all. It _had_ been here, possibly even when Merrill had been trying to break in on the previous occasions; but she had got too lost to find it and take it – and now Hawke had moved it to his own mansion. Which meant that now she had to break into the mansion, somehow, and try not to get lost in there.

Merrill lightly rested her forehead against the safe and groaned to herself. Why couldn’t this task ever be _simple_? Simple was good. This was not. The Keeper would be annoyed with her yet again, and Merrill couldn’t blame her.

But there was worse to come: someone had suddenly cast a Cleansing Wave over the office, a Lasting Cleanse at that, denying all hostile magical effects in the area except the glyphs. Worse still, the Silence that subsequently hit her cut her connection to the Fade, leaving her entirely without access to her mana to defend herself. Merrill froze. _Templars_. She scrambled under the desk, hoping she would be able to hide until whoever it was had gone away.

The door to the office opened, and a tall man entered the room. Merrill looked up at his large silhouette, wide-eyed in terror. She was going to be caught, maybe even killed, and even worse, she hadn’t even found out where the amulet was—

‘Someone here?’ the man’s voice rang out, sharply.

 _Creators_. To Merrill’s horror, Carver Hawke stood there, revealed by the moonlight now that he had entered the room properly, every inch the templar she had always been warned about, even though Knight-Commander Meredith was dead and the Order in Kirkwall was all but disbanded; he now helped the City Guard keep order. He was, uncharacteristically, in a black tuxedo and bow-tie. In the dim light the whiteness of his shirt stood out crisply against the dark, and the tuxedo fitted snugly against his muscular figure. His eyes searched the room until they found Merrill, under his brother’s desk, breathing deeply. His stare bored into hers. Too late did Merrill remember that her elven eyes were probably glowing in the dark – like they always did – and that was what gave her away.

‘An elf,’ he said in distaste. ‘So _you_ _lot_ have been spying on my brother all this time?’

Merrill shrieked as he struck her with a Holy Smite, and rolled away, whimpering in pain, as the former Ser Carver walked forward, readying whatever templar powers he had to incapacitate her further. His brother’s glyphs glowed as he stepped on them, but did not trap him like they would have trapped her – an enemy.

‘Not so sneaky after all, are we?’ he crowed as he advanced. ‘Didn’t even cast a full Holy Smite, at that.’ He taunted her with a laugh, and Merrill’s ears prickled unpleasantly at the sound. ‘The elf girl is too soft – she’s down.’

Merrill scrambled to her feet, panting, and glared at him from the other side of the desk; there was nothing for it, she would have to fight. She was tempted to fire back a jeer of her own, but she did not want him to hear her and recognise who she was, for she had met him – once, briefly, many years ago – and couldn’t risk the chance that he might remember her.

He used to be so brash back then. The kind of guy who got into drunken fist-fights, relied more on brawn than brain, was arrested a few times (until Hawke reportedly persuaded Captain Aveline Vallen to bail him out), and visited the Blooming Rose. The one and only other time they’d met, she had been in Varric Tethras’s suite at the Hanged Man listening to one of his many stories when Carver Hawke had walked in, bare muscular arms and surly expression both on display. Varric introduced them to each other, but Carver barely spoke to her even when Merrill tried to talk to him. In fact, he didn’t do much more than stare at her for the rest of the evening, and she was glad when he eventually left.

Now, here he was, threatening and malevolent and even more well-built than before and scarier than she ever imagined Hawke’s younger brother would be. She had no idea if he would capture or kill her – she had heard enough rumours about Garrett Hawke to not trust _anyone_ by the name of Hawke with her life – but, now that he had backed her into a corner and left her without her magic to defend herself, there was only one resort open to her.

Merrill reached into the band around her thigh and drew the knife with one hand, holding her other palm open to do what he – by denying her access to her mana – had left her no choice but to do.

 _Blood of the First_ , were the last words that flitted through her mind as she closed her eyes to the sound of her metal blade doing its work. When she opened them again, feeling the susurration of the spirits waiting for her to call them forth, a new resolve filled her to the brim, a wrath and hatred of her foe that she had never felt before. Coursing with power, a single cast of Wounds of the Past could rend him from the inside and make him scream and plead before she tortured him to immobilisation or worse.

The templar raised his large hand to strike her again, but his eyes narrowed in recognition at her use of blood magic. Carver Hawke, she had heard, fought fearlessly and without mercy. Even with the realisation that he was fighting a blood mage, even without any weapons in his hands, he remained staunch and fierce and bold to the point of arrogance in the face of her own blood swirling through the air.

Carver roared and launched himself at her, not even caring that he might get splattered with blood. In her panic at his unexpected lunge, Merrill shrieked and dived out of his way before his large fists closed around her, leaving him scattering papers across the desk and all over the floor, before slamming into the safe behind her with a loud _clang_.

Merrill pirouetted on one foot and desperately shot another blood-fuelled spell at him, which missed. She could feel her blood magic draining her energy, but she still couldn’t access her mana; the templar’s Cleansing Wave might have been a precautionary measure before he entered the office, but it was lasting an annoyingly long time. She lobbed a Stonefist at him. He staggered, and yelled as she followed it up with a Hex of Torment. Carver tried to strike her with a Silence, but it hit her Mind-Blast with a loud bang.

The force of their colliding powers sent both of them reeling backwards, and as Merrill readied her Wounds of the Past spell at last (surely blood magic would finish him off), he hit her with a Staggering Smite, and she quite forgot who she was attacking and why.

He charged again with a growl, and Merrill skipped out of the way – not intentionally; by sheer luck she prevented him grabbing her or worse – but when her senses recovered and the confusion started to lift, the pain came rushing in, the tiredness came rushing in. She was running low on life-force and could not summon another spell. Collapsing, she uttered one last silent prayer to the Creators as she cast a weak Sleep spell in his direction, hoping upon hope that it would work.

A thud told her that Carver Hawke had hit the floor. When Merrill gathered the energy to look at him, she saw him sprawled across his brother’s glyphs and covered in blood – her blood, she realised – and exhaled a sigh of relief. She slumped against the wall, closing her eyes, until she was able to breathe normally again. She could now smell the alcohol on the air; Carver had tried to fight her while at least slightly drunk on expensive wine, which probably accounted for the error that led him to collide with her magic. She considered searching his large, prone body, but then remembered the glyphs that glowed under him, hostile to her but not to him, and then realised, with rising panic, that she needed to get out of there before anyone noticed.

Merrill got to her feet, grabbed the Hawke Enterprises HQ map the Keeper had given her, and ran.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic was originally a 20k one-shot so I thought I'd split it into chapters to make it easier on the reader XD I promise you it will get shippier! This is just the "enemies" bit of the "enemies to lovers" :D We have a marriage of convenience to arrange, after all! And a masquerade ball! ~~And maybe even a heist!~~ I hope you enjoy!


	2. Chapter 2

Somehow Merrill managed to get out of the office building without incident, but it was only by sheer luck. A wrong turning saw her getting lost again, and shouting indicated that several people had been alerted by the noises coming from Garrett Hawke’s office and knew that an intruder had broken in, or even that fighting had broken out. With all the security guards swarming into that corridor, by the time Merrill found her way again, it was easier to slip out the entrance she’d come in and disappear into the night.

Once Merrill was safely back in her little apartment in Kirkwall’s elven alienage, she pulled off her mask and headgear – it was so nice to free herself of this wretched disguise at last, and after three years getting lost in Kirkwall itself it was so nice to be able to find her way around the city and get home – and called Keeper Marethari on the smartphone she used specially for these covert operations.

The Keeper’s stern, yet tired face appeared on the screen, her usually neat grey hair ruffled, white frills of a nightgown at her neck. The call had clearly woken her up. Merrill took a deep breath.

‘Merrill,’ Keeper Marethari greeted her, dourly. ‘I was expecting to hear from you hours ago.’

‘I’m so sorry, Keeper. I’ve only just got home. I got lost.’

Marethari’s lips thinned; she had heard this from Merrill so many times over the past several years, and there was very little she could say anymore that might have a hope of changing the abilities of her least competent spy.

‘Well,’ the Keeper said, sharply. ‘I have heard myself asking this many times over the years, but – did you retrieve the amulet, child?’

‘I – I’m afraid not, Keeper.’

Marethari sighed, exasperated; Merrill was used to it by now after so long, but the Keeper’s continual disappointment in her still made her feel guilty for failing again. ‘I have heard you _replying_ this many times over the years.’

‘But – I have good news?’ Merrill tried to tell her; if she couldn’t deliver the good news of obtaining the amulet, she could at least try and rescue some of her estimation in the Keeper’s eyes. Maybe. ‘I sort of know where the amulet is?’

The spymaster paused, and considered this new information. ‘You mean to say, _da’len_ ,’ she began, and Merrill tried not to wince at the habitual term of endearment that the Keeper bestowed on everyone without actually meaning it, ‘that it is not in Garrett Hawke’s office?’

‘No,’ Merrill confirmed. ‘It’s not in the headquarters at all. It’s at the Hawke Estate.’

Marethari sighed again; and despite her anxiety at the Keeper’s disappointment in her, Merrill could not blame her for being frustrated at this revelation. Three years after the clan had come to Sundermount, Keeper Marethari’s premonition that Hawke would deliver the amulet to them on Asha’bellanar’s behalf had not materialised. The Keeper seemed sure that the person in possession of the amulet was in Kirkwall, and had sent spies from the clan to recover it. While they had indeed managed to establish that the amulet was in Garrett Hawke’s possession – and that Hawke _was_ indeed in Kirkwall, having moved from Lowtown into a sprawling Hightown mansion dubbed the Hawke Estate – the amulet itself still had not been retrieved.

‘Are you sure about this, child?’

‘I am certain, Keeper. I found a note. Although I was ambushed shortly after, so I didn’t get a chance to take a photo to send you as proof.’

‘Well,’ the Keeper eventually said, in a disapproving tone. ‘I suppose _you_ will need to get into the Hawke Estate, then.’

Now it was Merrill’s turn to sigh. ‘Yes, Keeper.’

‘We will talk again in the morning.’ Marethari regarded her sternly. ‘For now, I think both of us should get some sleep. It is late.’

Merrill nodded miserably, and hung up.

Six years after the clan had come to Sundermount, the amulet was still in Hawke’s selfish grasp. And this was why Merrill had been on her mission all these years, including tonight – to steal it back, so that the clan could move on and the Keeper could fulfil her decades-old promise to Asha’bellanar once the amulet restored her. But Kirkwall was no place for a Dalish elf, or even a Dalish spy. Keeper Marethari had already lost three of the clan’s best hunters to this mission – Radha, Chandan and Harshal had all perished – and agreed to send Merrill when she felt she had no other choice.

Or perhaps the Keeper had finally felt Merrill was expendable.

Merrill had been glad to go: life in the clan had been unbearable. Her work on the eluvian – which led to her studying and using blood magic to cleanse a tainted shard before rebuilding the mirror in question – and her determination to learn more _elvhen_ history from the eluvian made Merrill even more unpopular with the clan than she already was. She was ostracised and variously accused of being obsessed and even possessed for three years, and those were some of the nicer things the other elves said to her. When the Keeper had refused her the _arulin’holm_ to help her complete her task, Merrill had gladly invoked _vir sulevanan_ , the entitlement of the Dalish to a property of their people in exchange for an errand they must perform… and this was the ‘errand’ the Keeper gave her in return.

So, like the other Clan Sabrae spies before her, Merrill moved to the alienage where she could be as invisible as all the other city elves. But Merrill just spent the past three years getting hopelessly lost. Every day. Kirkwall was big and confusing and not at all like her clan.

If Merrill hadn’t accidentally wandered into the Hanged Man public house in Lowtown and met Varric shortly after arriving in Kirkwall – and through him, Isabela, and gained the friendship and protection of both of them – Merrill was quite sure she would not even be alive by now, despite being a powerful mage who could defend herself.

 _Varric_ , Merrill thought to herself, as she lay herself down to sleep. _He_ would know what to do: she’d consulted him for help on her missions enough times. _He_ would know how to get her into the Hawke Estate. She closed her eyes, resolving she would ask him for advice and help, before sleep overcame her.

Varric had been friends with Hawke, once. But Hawke’s lust for power at the expense of everyone else had eventually proved too much for even Varric’s non-partisan stance on Kirkwall’s issues. While he had grudgingly supported Hawke right up to the man’s rise to Kirkwall’s Champion, something in the dwarf had finally snapped, and he’d had enough.

Varric prided himself on being the man who knew everyone worth knowing in Kirkwall, and Merrill had been more than grateful for his help and the fact that he’d looked after her so much during her time there – but she often got the impression over the years that the association of Varric Tethras with Garrett Hawke was one that her dwarven friend often regretted.

‘Well, Hawke told me “I think it’s time to change how Kirkwall is run”,’ Varric had told Merrill in disbelief, over a pint, ‘and I thought to myself “Really? Politics? That’s either idealism or crazy talking, so… right up your alley, I’d say.”’

‘Is that what you told him?’ Merrill had asked.

‘Nah,’ the sandy-haired dwarf had replied, shaking his head. ‘I told him “I always thought you had the soul of a politician, Hawke. Somehow I figure you won’t be happy until you’ve got your butt in the Viscount’s throne.”’ Varric had sipped his tankard of ale, then. ‘Looks like I was right.’

This time, when Merrill went to the Hanged Man public house – the day after telling Keeper Marethari about her latest failed attempt to steal back Flemeth’s amulet – she found Varric upstairs in his plush suite, in the middle of writing his latest novel. (The life of a spy, Merrill thought, was considerably less glamorous than it always was in Varric’s novels.)

‘Daisy,’ Varric greeted her with his usual amicable drawl, as he looked up from his laptop. ‘What can I do for you?’

‘I need your help, Varric,’ Merrill replied, after she’d explained what happened the night before. ‘I need to get into the Hawke Estate, but…’ and here she looked downcast, ‘I don’t know how. I _think_ I know where it is? But it’s probably so huge I’d need to learn my way around it first before I can even _think_ about finding the amulet.’

‘Well, you’re in luck,’ Varric said. ‘Hawke invited me to a soirée at his mansion – one of many events schmoozing with Hightown’s elites to smooth his path to his election as Viscount – and I need a plus-one to come with me.’

Merrill stared at the dwarf, green eyes as round as saucers. ‘Oh,’ she said. ‘Did you have anyone in mind?’

‘Not until now,’ Varric answered. ‘Wanna be my plus-one at the Hawke Estate masquerade ball, Daisy?’

Merrill squealed in delight and hugged her friend. ‘I would _love_ that! _Ma serannas_ , Varric, but… oh, Creators. Is it going to be a _fancy_ ball? I don’t have anything to wear! And I don’t have a _mask_ , and…’

Varric chortled. ‘Don’t you worry,’ he assured her. ‘I’ll pass Isabela some coin so she can take you shopping. In fact,’ he said, pulling his smartphone out of the pocket of his own fancy brown leather jacket, ‘I’ll text her now.’

* * *

‘What do I do?’ Merrill whispered, as she and Varric walked into the Hawke Estate’s large and lavish reception room, her hand on the crook of Varric’s elbow. Varric was dressed in a smart, dark brown dinner-suit and deep red shirt of the finest silk, chest hair cheekily on display despite such a formal event. His gold mask complemented his hair and solidified his reputation as Kirkwall’s flashiest celebrity author. Walking into the Hawke Estate was like walking into a palace rather than a mere mansion, and the richly-clad guests swanned around as if they themselves were royalty. Even though Merrill towered over her cocky and confident companion, Merrill felt rather out of place on Varric’s arm, as if she paled into insignificance beside him.

Merrill herself had a black filigree mask over her eyes – a delicate, pretty, expensive thing – that swirled in a similar shape to the _vallaslin_ on her face, blending in with the tattoo pattern rather than clashing with it. She wore a long, black, slinky velvet dress, lightly corseted, slit to the thigh on one side, with silver-threaded Dalish embroidery woven through it, giving the appearance of tiny, subtle stars every time it caught the light. It was easily the nicest thing she’d ever worn – and the most low-cut thing too; Isabela insisted Merrill needed to show off a bit of cleavage. With her arms completely bare and a neckline that was a little lower than what she was used to, Merrill felt rather exposed wearing it. (Not because the dress was _indecent_ , or anything, but simply because Merrill was not used to wearing anything as… sexy? would that be the right description?… as this.)

Everyone else was in their formal finery, for this was a black-tie event. Varric seemed to be the only man not in a black tuxedo and white shirt, and everyone staring at them as they walked in made Merrill very nervous. The grand chandelier above their heads reminded Merrill of the one she’d swung off in Hawke’s office; briefly she was tempted to do it again, and escape this bright and glittering and opulent affair.

‘You don’t need to do anything if you don’t want to, Daisy,’ Varric reassured her, patting her hand. ‘I’ll handle the talking. You just stay with me, as long as it takes.’

Tongues wagged at the sight of Varric Tethras walking in with an elf, but Merrill said nothing to all the curious stares around them. Varric beamed easily at all of them, in his element as always, and made a beeline straight for Garrett Hawke.

‘Varric!’ Hawke greeted his old friend, in a warm baritone voice and a smile that didn’t reach his amber eyes. He was standing with his brother Carver, their dark hair being the only real giveaway that they were related. Both were wearing smart black satin masks to match their tailored black tuxedos. ‘Good to see you could make it. I couldn’t _possibly_ start a party without my trusty dwarf.’

‘Awwww, come on, Hawke,’ Varric replied, seemingly jovial as usual, although Merrill thought she could detect an edge to Varric’s voice. ‘You know any party _you_ hold wouldn’t be worth attending if I wasn’t there.’

‘So who’s your date?’ Hawke asked, seemingly ignoring the jibe and turning his attention to Merrill. ‘I didn’t know you had a new lady-friend, Varric. Bianca bolted at last, did she?’

Now it was Varric’s turn to ignore the barb. ‘Allow me to introduce my friend Merrill,’ was his only reply, and it was only then that Carver spoke up; his harsh voice made Merrill jump.

‘I know you.’

Merrill’s heart began to race at Carver’s words.

‘Um – I’m not sure you do,’ she answered, thinking in panic of their fight in Hawke’s office, but trying not to show it. ‘I don’t think we’ve met before?’

‘Yeah we have. Years ago. In Varric’s suite at the Hanged Man.’

 _Oh_. Merrill exhaled in relief. ‘Oh! You’re right!’ she laughed, as lightly as she could; thank goodness he remembered, Merrill thought, especially as she was never a very good liar. ‘Creators, that was a long time ago. I didn’t think you’d remember who I was!’

‘Of course I do.’

Merrill didn’t know why, but his words sent a shiver up her spine.

What was the phrase the humans had? Oh – ‘body from Rialto-Baywatch, face from Crimewatch’ after those two television shows. Even in his mask, Carver Hawke had the sort of grim face that reminded Merrill of the criminal mugshots she’d seen on Crimewatch, where the captain of the guard would appeal on-screen for witnesses to come forward. Or maybe that was just the surly look on his face. Or maybe he had actually _been on_ Crimewatch.

Either way, it was a mean expression, like many human expressions, but it had been the first one that came to mind when Merrill saw him, and she felt a little guilty about thinking something so unkind. Carver Hawke was tall and well-built, and even through his fitted tuxedo – the second time Merrill had seen him in one; although at least this time it was brightly lit and she could take in his appearance properly – she could tell Carver was strapping and muscular enough that he could easily have been a topless lifeguard running around in red shorts on Rialto-Baywatch (not that she made a habit of watching that TV show, really).

A dangerous man to face in a fight. He was studying her with piercing blue eyes while Varric and his brother talked politics and Kirkwall, and Merrill didn’t like it. She gulped and decided to feign innocent cheer.

‘Is that a new tuxedo?’ she chirped, during the first lull in Varric and Hawke’s conversation when she could talk to Carver again. _What happened to the tuxedo that ended up with my blood all over it? Do you recognise me from your brother’s office?_

Carver finally tore his eyes away from her and looked down in his tuxedo in distaste before looking back at her; Merrill rather got the impression he hated wearing it, and probably much preferred wearing uniform. ‘Yeah, it’s new,’ he said. ‘My old one was ruined not long ago. Had to get another one quickly made up.’

‘Carver was fighting an intruder in my office during a Hawke Enterprises evening event,’ Garrett Hawke cut in, smoothly. ‘An elven blood mage, it seems, and we’ve sent the blood samples on Carver’s clothes as evidence to the City Guard. Although I was disappointed that Carver was knocked out before he could catch the intruder – it seems that Carver isn’t the templar he once was.’

Even through his black satin mask, Merrill could see Carver glare at his brother, his face becoming even more sullen and grumpy than it already was, and Merrill wondered if he even knew how to smile. ‘I did my best,’ Carver retorted. ‘And I’d had a few drinks and no weapon. You told me your magical protections would work, and the elf still got in anyway. Don’t even know what the elves are after.’

‘Well, at least nothing was stolen, as far as we could tell,’ Garrett Hawke said, dismissing his brother’s annoyance with nothing more than a wave of his hand. ‘And we’ve installed extra security here tonight, in case the elves try to infiltrate again. Should we get some canapés and wine?’

As nervous as Merrill had been for this event, the rest of the evening went smoothly; she listened to Hawke’s conversations about his political ambitions, she ignored the tittering remarks from Hightown’s most wealthy and powerful individuals about ‘Varric’s elven escort’, and she and Varric danced and ate and drank. When Varric was approached by admirers desperate to ask about his latest novel – for her dwarven friend was popular among the Hightown set – and she sat to one side to take a break and observe and sip champagne, she was approached again by Carver Hawke.

Merrill smiled politely, trying to hold in the sigh of irritation she really wanted to release. _Why_ did he keep following her? Why didn’t he just say he recognised her as the elf he fought and have her booted out, if this was what he wanted? At least she wouldn’t get lost this time, and could find her way home. As nice as the party was, as plush and luxurious her surroundings, it was all bedazzlement and artifice, much like Garrett Hawke himself.

And Merrill really wanted to make it out of here alive. She didn’t trust Keeper Marethari not to come and find her in the Beyond and tut at her for failing her mission so badly.

‘So,’ Carver said, as he planted himself in the chair beside her, holding his own flute of champagne in one hand. ‘How long have you been dating Varric? I thought he was only into dwarves.’

 _Well_ , Merrill thought, _this_ was an unexpected question. ‘I – I’m not,’ she stuttered. ‘We’re just friends. Varric was very helpful when I first moved to Kirkwall some years ago.’

‘Oh,’ was all Carver replied.

‘Varric needed a plus-one for this event,’ Merrill gabbled on, trying not to quail under his searching gaze (his stare was _very_ unnerving, Merrill thought, but if she kept talking maybe he wouldn’t notice how she felt?), ‘so he asked me if I wanted to come.’

‘Oh,’ Carver said again.

Silence fell between them as they both sipped their champagne. Carver Hawke _kept staring_ at her, and Merrill dearly wished he’d stop. He seemed as if he wanted to ask her something, and Merrill had to avoid being caught out in a poorly-told lie. She stared into her champagne glass. She really _was_ a rubbish spy.

‘I – I suppose,’ Carver finally began, after they’d been sitting in silence for a while, the hubbub of the masquerade ball all around them, ‘if you’re not dating Varric – if you’re not Varric’s girlfriend, then – he wouldn’t be offended if someone else asked you to dance.’

Merrill looked at him sharply then; she couldn’t tell in the rosy mood-lighting of the room, but if she wasn’t entirely mistaken, was he… was he _blushing_?

Maybe he was, Merrill eventually concluded. _Elgar’nan_. Was it _warm_ in here?

‘Oh, no,’ Merrill replied with a smile, happy to talk about anything other than what she was worrying about. ‘No, Varric wouldn’t mind! And I’m definitely _not_ his girlfriend – we really _are_ just friends. Although nobody else has actually _asked_ me to dance, and I very much doubt that any of the people here would want to be seen dancing with an elf, and – well, I’m rambling again, but Varric _definitely_ wouldn’t mind.’

‘Right,’ Carver said, and by the Creators, yes he _was_ blushing; his cheeks were definitely red and his mask couldn’t hide them. Maybe tuxedo jackets were warmer than she ever thought. ‘That’s – that’s good to know.’

‘Now that you mention Varric,’ Merrill chattered on, ‘where is he? I think he’s disappeared. I do hope he’s not left me here, even if I don’t tend to get lost in Kirkwall nowadays. Or maybe he’s pretending he’s gone home after all, to wind me up? Where _are_ you, Varric?’ She glanced all around her, before muttering under her breath to herself. ‘Varric, if you are faking, I will strangle you!’

‘Um,’ Carver said, ‘I doubt he’s gone home, although I don’t see him…’ He shook his head. ‘Wow,’ he murmured to himself. ‘How do you still muddle me?’

Merrill looked back at him, wondering if this was where he would reveal he knew she had fought him. ‘I suppose Varric muddles us all,’ she answered. ‘He’s _very_ good at that! I suppose that’s what makes him such a great storyteller!’

‘No,’ Carver said, again, and Creators – surely it wasn’t possible for a human to go any redder than this. ‘I mean – I meant – _shit_. Will you dance with me, Merrill?’

Merrill stared at him. He was asking her to dance? With him? But – wasn’t he going to say anything about their fight?

‘I mean,’ Carver started, ‘you don’t have to, I just thought—’

‘I’ll dance with you,’ Merrill said breathlessly, her words all coming out in a rush. She was panting, whether out of surprise or panic she couldn’t tell, but – this was an unexpected turn. Going into the enemy’s lair was one thing. Dancing with the enemy was quite another.

But if this was what the Creators had in mind, then as a spy on a mission, Merrill had no choice but to seize any opportunity that would further her objective. She stood up, and let Carver lead her by the hand to the ballroom floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't think I didn't search high and low to find a suitable canon "bay" in Thedas (Rialto Bay, in this case) so that I could crowbar in "body from Baywatch, face from Crimewatch" into this fic. XD


	3. Chapter 3

The things Carver did to help Garrett get elected to Viscount of Kirkwall.

Carver had danced with many women that evening, and had been thoroughly bored by their company, but if it was all to help Garrett realise his political ambitions, he supposed it was a small sacrifice to make – especially given the much larger sacrifice Garrett wanted him to make in order to help him out.

And anyway, at least this ‘smaller sacrifice’ meant he was now dancing with the pretty, dark-haired elf girl who had walked in on Varric’s arm this evening, giving him a pang of jealousy and recognition he never thought he’d feel at such a fancy, foppish, posturing affair full of wine-drinking pinkie-extenders such as this one. When he’d first met her all those years ago, he’d been too shy to talk to her. He’d been too shy to even ask Varric about her when he’d next seen him, and was forced to put her out of his mind until she showed up tonight in that figure-hugging, shimmery black dress of hers and a filigree mask that framed her beautiful big green eyes and made him desperately want to know more of her.

Carver had always been unlucky in love. And he’d thought about Merrill a lot over the years, kicking himself for being too shy to ask her out when he’d had the chance. He told himself he’d ask her out if he ever saw her again, but the Maker played a cruel practical joke on Carver when he never _did_ see her again. One of _many_ cruel practical jokes the Maker played on Carver – although not as painful as the one that stole Bethany’s life away before they came to Kirkwall – and now that his brother was determined that nothing would get in the way of his election as Viscount, the Maker was about to play another cruel practical joke on Carver again.

‘I’ve decided you’re getting married,’ was Garrett’s announcement once Carver had recovered from his injuries after his fight with the elven blood mage. That was typical Garrett: he could turn on the charm when he needed to, he was handsome and well-dressed enough that people listened to him when he spoke, but underneath it all Garrett didn’t care about anyone but himself.

‘That’s it?’ Carver had barked, wincing as he removed the ice pack from a particularly nasty bruise; he’d considered himself lucky the blood mage only used defensive spells and didn’t outright kill him. ‘No “I’m sorry you got hurt”, Brother? You’re not even gonna ask _me_ what I think of this?’

‘Our family needs to be seen as squeaky-clean and respectable if I’m to be elected Viscount,’ Garrett went on, as if Carver hadn’t spoken at all, ‘and you have a… a _reputation_. We need to arrange you a marriage, and then perhaps the scandal of you getting in fist-fights in my office headquarters – not to mention your numerous failed love affairs and your status as an ex-templar – can be distracted from.’

Carver had been outraged. ‘Wait. _I’m_ not the one who’s a politician here. It’s not important for _me_ to have a squeaky-clean image. Why don’t _you_ get married?’

But Garrett merely shrugged. ‘The city already considers me its hero, and its champion,’ he replied in those infuriatingly smooth tones of his, and Carver bitterly wished that his own unswerving family loyalty didn’t mean he probably _would_ end up agreeing to whatever hare-brained scheme Garrett negotiated to secure his own power. ‘A politically expedient marriage for _me_ can be made in good time, perhaps even after I become Kirkwall’s ruler. But you – _you_ need to clean up your act.’

Carver clenched his fists; he was aware he looked like a petulant child, but he didn’t care. ‘And what if I don’t want to get married?’

‘Well, you don’t have to remain married for long,’ Garrett said. ‘Pre-nups can be drawn up. You only have to do it until I ascend to the Viscount’s throne. Nobody needs to know your marriage is fake or arranged until after my election.’

‘And you’re arranging it,’ Carver deduced, through gritted teeth.

‘Exactly,’ Garrett had said, looking pleased that Carver understood him at last. ‘I am holding a masquerade ball just for the purpose of beginning your courtship. The finest grandees in Kirkwall and beyond will be in attendance; every person of class loves a good party, and this one will befit the best. You are therefore free to choose a wife from this suitable pool of attendees, or I can propose to one for you – whichever you prefer, Carver. Just – don’t do a Varric and start courting a married woman, whatever you do.’

And now the masquerade ball in question was taking place, and Carver was miserable. His one saving grace was the elven woman he was waltzing around the room with right now. She seemed nervous around him for some reason. Not that that bothered him – he was nervous around her, too, for she was very pretty and if there was one thing Carver _didn’t_ know how to do, it was to talk to a pretty girl.

Even a pretty girl that was currently in his arms.

‘So what happened in this fight you got into?’ she eventually asked, and briefly Carver closed his eyes to breathe in her perfume as she talked. ‘The one at the Hawke Enterprises offices?’

Despite his nerves, Carver chuckled. ‘ _This_ is what you talk about with your dancing partner?’

‘Um, no, not really,’ Merrill admitted, sliding her small pale hand up his jacket sleeve in a way that made him shiver. _Maker_ , he was so pleased to see this woman again, and to dance with her right now, whatever else came next. ‘I was just trying to make conversation! We can talk about something else if you like!’

‘No, this will do,’ Carver said, twirling her around and bringing her back into him. Merrill embraced him again in a dancer’s hold, and he took the opportunity to slide one hand around her waist. She blushed under her mask, an ornament as delicately pretty as her facial features. Carver wanted to bury his nose in her short dark hair and pointed ears and breathe her in. ‘I don’t mind telling you.’

He detailed the fight to her, how Garrett had been alerted by one of the guards by a suspicious shadow on one of the upper floors and sent Carver to investigate. Merrill listened attentively, innocent green eyes wide, and Carver couldn’t help slightly exaggerating how well he’d fought the maleficar when drunk.

‘I’m surprised you’re dancing with me,’ she said, with a nervous laugh after he’d finished, and Carver wondered if he’d tried _too_ hard to impress her with tales of his fighting prowess and scared her into thinking he was a violent man instead of one acting in defence. ‘If – if elves in this city are causing you and your brother so many problems—’

‘No—’ _Shit_ , Carver thought, _I’ve fucked up_. He tried again. ‘No, Merrill, it’s not that – I’ve got nothing against elves, I swear. But – these elves, whoever they are, have been causing my brother problems for _years_. I don’t know much about it – I’ve been a templar most of this time, so I’ve not seen much of what they’ve done to him until now – and I don’t know what they want. Brother didn’t say why they’re after him, so I’m guessing they want to steal company secrets or something. Either way, Garrett’s my brother and the only family I have, so… I have to protect what I’ve got left.’

‘It’s very curious that Hawke never told you why the elves are after him,’ Merrill agreed. ‘And now you’ve got hurt in a fight with a blood mage, all for his sake – ow, Carver, not there,’ she said, as he tried to slide his hand up her body, and he quickly shifted his hand back to her waist and apologised, ‘I’ve got a bruise there, it’s a bit of a tender spot.’

‘Sorry,’ Carver said again. ‘And sorry to hear you’ve got bruises too.’ He paused, and thought. ‘No one hurt you, I hope? There isn’t someone I should go and “pay a visit to”, is there?’

Merrill laughed. ‘No, I don’t think so. I get clumsy sometimes! Just a… a cleaning accident! My apartment can be a bit messy sometimes. It’s very small and cramped. Not like this place.’

‘I only moved in here recently,’ Carver said, ‘and you’re right, it’s _huge_. I know my way around now, but it took me a while. Varric teased me about that actually, but, well, Maker forgive me for not having my brother’s sense of direction!’

Merrill smiled. ‘I don’t think I’d _ever_ have found my way around in such a short space of time,’ she said, as the music wound down and the dance came to an end. ‘If you ever wanted to show me around, I’d like that. But only if you want to, of course!’

Carver wanted to puff his chest out in pride; maybe he stood more of a chance with the pretty girl with the pleasant voice than he thought. ‘Sure,’ he said, trying to give her his most charming smile (this would work if he were Garrett, but since he was Carver all he could do was _hope_ it would work). ‘We can go now, if you want?’

Merrill scrunched up her cute little nose in delight and grinned, her green eyes gleaming. ‘I’d love that, Carver,’ she said. ‘Let’s go.’

* * *

Carver had very large hands, Merrill noticed; and while she had had no objection to dancing in such a close embrace with him with those large hands around her tiny waist, close enough to smell his cologne, it had taken all her effort to ensure he avoided touching her own bruises from the fight. It was clear from their conversation on the dancefloor that he had no idea that _she_ had been the elf he’d fought with that other night, and she preferred to keep it that way. He was so large, so bulky compared to her slender self, and she was thankful she had had magic to protect her – and no qualms about using blood to fuel defensive spells when mana wasn’t available – or it might have been trickier to overcome him.

It did, however, surprise her that Carver seemed completely unaware why her clan were after his brother in the first place. She’d heard so much about how Carver was the sort of man to defend his family and loved ones to the death – his fierce loyalty to the elder Hawke meant that even the _templars_ dared not speak ill of his brother, let alone arrest him for apostasy, lest Carver put a fist in their faces – that she was surprised that that family loyalty did not seem to go the other way. She would have expected that Garrett Hawke would have told Carver all about the amulet, but – unless Carver was lying, which Merrill didn’t think he was – Carver seemed to have no idea about any of it.

 _Company secrets_ , indeed. Merrill had almost scoffed during their dance at Carver’s speculations – as if the Sabrae Clan would _care_ about Hawke Enterprises’ company secrets enough to steal them. All they wanted was what was promised to them all those years ago – what was rightfully theirs.

But now their dance was over (and Creators, she was pleased to get away from gossiping, prying eyes), and after getting both of them glasses of expensive wine, Carver proudly showed her around his brother’s estate. He’d moved in shortly after the Chantry explosion occurred and Kirkwall’s Templar Order had disbanded, given that they had been the military arm of the organisation that the apostate Anders had demolished. Merrill, remembering her manners, made suitably impressed and delighted noises at everything he showed her, and the more she did it, the more Carver would stare at her with such a soft and shy expression on his face that Merrill couldn’t work out.

Perhaps her earlier dismissal of him as being a ‘body from Rialto-Baywatch, face from Crimewatch’ was far too harsh. From Merrill’s slightly tipsy viewpoint, Carver was quite attractive in his own way, even if she still wasn’t sure she trusted or liked him. He _was_ a Hawke, after all, even if he didn’t seem as cunning or crafty or charmingly attractive as his brother. 

‘And this,’ Carver said, with a slightly drunken flourish, as he led her out onto a grand balcony overlooking the entire city, ‘is the best view in Kirkwall.’

‘It’s very impressive!’ Merrill chirruped. ‘Was it a relief moving here after being in the Gallows for so long? I imagine the view there isn’t so nice.’

Carver barked a laugh. ‘No, well, this view is definitely better than the one from the Gallows,’ he admitted. ‘But as for moving here, well—’ He sighed, and seemed about to say something, but then thought better of it. ‘I suppose – being around remaining family – has – got to be better than being in the Gallows.’

Merrill looked at him, wondering what he wanted to say, and what few spying instincts she had kicked in, even through all the alcohol she’d drunk. ‘You must really miss your mother,’ she said, recalling the death of Leandra Amell; she’d never known her, but even the Dalish had heard of her untimely demise – the whole city had talked of nothing else for a week.

‘Yeah,’ Carver admitted, sighing heavily; he walked forward and leaned on his elbows on the balustrade, staring sadly out over the city. Merrill felt so sorry for whatever made him sigh the way he had that she joined him on the balcony and placed a small, slim hand on one of his huge forearms. Carver shuddered, seemingly in surprise, but didn’t shake her off, which Merrill found encouraging. ‘I miss Mother, and Father, and… and Bethany. _Especially_ Bethany. Things just got worse after she died.’

‘Bethany?’ Merrill asked.

‘My twin. She died just before our nineteenth birthday, before we came to Kirkwall. She was an apostate, actually.’ Carver paused. ‘Garrett might not have liked it when I became a templar, but – I think Bethany would have understood. Not all mages are like her, and all I ever wanted to do was protect my family and protect the city from its worst elements.’ He laughed bitterly. ‘Fat lot of good that did. Couldn’t even stop a blood mage from rifling through my brother’s office.’

‘You sound like you love your family very much,’ Merrill said, trying to shift the subject from where it seemed headed; her hand was still on his forearm, and if Carver _had_ noticed her hand shaking slightly, he said nothing. ‘Your brother is lucky he has someone as loyal as you to protect him. And – you’re still here! You’re still alive! And part of the richest family in Kirkwall! Things can’t be _that_ bad, can they?’

Carver sighed again, and even through his mask, Merrill could see him close his eyes. ‘I probably shouldn’t be telling you this. But my life is – hardly my own, in this family. No matter what I do, it’s never good enough. I can’t ever seem to escape my brother’s shadow – not even after seven years in this city – and now he wants to arrange me a marriage to help his own political ambitions.’

‘Oh.’ Merrill cocked her head to one side and considered this awhile; she had no idea why Carver was telling her this. Perhaps he was drunker than she thought, and alcohol had loosened his tongue?

It was certainly possible. The wine was very sweet and very strong, the champagne was exquisite; and Merrill had to admit that by now, she herself had progressed beyond tipsy into being quite merry. She would have to tread carefully – but if he was less inhibited, perhaps this could be good for information-gathering. ‘And – you don’t want to get married?’

Carver snorted. ‘Hardly. Who to? My brother assures me that it doesn’t have to last long, only until he’s safely in the Viscount’s throne and then the marriage can be annulled, if that’s what I want. He’s already arranged for a pre-nup to be drawn up. Don’t see how marrying me off will work, or how it’ll help the Hawke family image, but he’s insistent it will.’

‘Well, that doesn’t seem fair to you.’ Merrill hesitated. ‘Does _he_ have anyone in mind? Do _you?’_

‘No, and no. I suppose that’s one good thing at least.’ Carver sighed again, and then turned so that he was facing her at last; the light from inside the room caught in his eyes and surprised Merrill with how blue they were. ‘But he wants me to pick from one of the ladies here tonight, if I can. Says he’s invited “all the finest and most eligible women in Kirkwall and beyond” to cement our respectability as a family if I marry one of them.’ Carver rolled his eyes. ‘Fuck that.’

‘I don’t blame you,’ Merrill said, squeezing his arm in genuine sympathy (another reason why the Keeper always said she wasn’t a very good spy; Merrill was far too nice), and finally, _finally_ , Carver seemed to notice her hand on his arm… or maybe he’d been deliberately ignoring it until now. ‘I know I would be very upset if I was made to marry someone I didn’t like, or didn’t care about, or didn’t want to marry.’ She hesitated before speaking again, wondering if she’d be laying it on too thick, or whether she was simply being as nice as a spy in potential harm’s way should be to an enemy who didn’t know she was his enemy. ‘I wish I could help you.’

Carver stared down at her hand on his arm for a long time; so long, in fact, that Merrill started to regret trying to reassure him that way in the first place, and withdrew her hand entirely. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she began, guilt flushing her cheeks, ‘I didn’t mean – I shouldn’t have done that – I’ll stop now.’

‘No, I just—’ Now it was Carver’s turn to flush. ‘I just – I had a thought – and you can say no, I don’t mind—’

Merrill stared up at him in astonishment. ‘What is it?’

‘We—’ Carver cleared his throat. ‘I know this is crazy, but – we could get married. If you didn’t mind it too much. We don’t – it doesn’t have to be for long. But – you seem nice, and—’ here his face went deep scarlet, ‘you’re – really pretty. I don’t want to marry any of the women here tonight, but… if I had to pick _one_ , then… well. I’d like to choose the one that might piss my brother off. I know he didn’t intend for you to be here tonight. He thought Varric would bring either that Bianca woman or come on his own.’

Until that point, Merrill had been staring at Carver in disbelief and surprise. But the moment he talked about defying his brother by marrying her, Merrill started to see how she herself could play the tension between the brothers to her own advantage.

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I’d like that. I – thank you for asking me to marry you, Carver.’

Merrill hadn’t wanted to get married either, and certainly hadn’t expected _this_ kind of opportunity to present itself this evening. But – if this was the easiest way to gain access to the Hawke Estate and learn her way around the place, then she could marry Carver for a while. Like he said, it didn’t even have to be for very long. Once Garrett Hawke was Viscount, she and Carver could go their separate ways – and hopefully by then she would have relayed back enough information on the Hawke Estate and its layout for the Keeper to help her plan a successful raid.

‘As long as you don’t mind that this is purely a business arrangement,’ she added. ‘And that I don’t intend to consummate our marriage.’

‘Yeah, of course,’ he said, sounding relieved. ‘Sounds like a good plan. I can get revenge on Garrett for a while, and we can annul the marriage afterwards for non-consummation. The Chantry allowed its templars to annul their marriages back in the day, so we can’t even say we’re going against the Chantry’s laws, even if we’re not sure whether they still apply here in Kirkwall. We don’t even have to _be_ together that much. We can go off and do our own thing until Garrett doesn’t need me to be married anymore.’

Merrill smiled at him. Suddenly things were looking up; maybe he was drunk enough that he had stupidly proposed without thinking, and maybe _she_ was drunk enough to stupidly accept, but surely, _surely_ , Merrill thought, she wouldn’t regret this in the morning.

* * *

Or… maybe she would. Along with the raging hangover she now seemed to have. Merrill swore she didn’t drink that much, but Varric had been the one to drag her home and help her into bed – although as always, he was a perfect gentleman and did nothing more than help her home safely to sleep.

Merrill woke up with the worst headache, and still had last night’s dress on (thankfully Varric had helped remove her mask, so she didn’t sleep in that), and despite the fact that she still felt a little intoxicated, the first thing Merrill did upon waking was dutifully ring Keeper Marethari for an espionage update.

‘Keeper, I have something to tell you. I am marrying Carver Hawke.’

‘Merrill… _what?’_

‘He proposed to me last night,’ Merrill explained, as brightly as she could. ‘He wants to get married until his brother is elected Viscount just for appearance’s sake, and then the marriage can be annulled. I was a little drunk, but I said yes, and – anyway, I thought you might like to know!’

Merrill was quite used to seeing the Keeper pinching the bridge of her nose at her exploits, and this was no exception. ‘I must admit,’ said the Keeper, once she could speak again, ‘that this is… quite the unexpected move. What in the name of the Creators made you think this was a good idea.’

‘It’s only going to be temporary, I promise! I need to use him for access to the Hawke Estate! I’ll just get lost in there otherwise!’

Marethari sighed – one of many such exasperated sighs she’d emitted over the years. ‘Couldn’t you just have asked for a tour, child? Rather than _marrying_ a _shemlen?’_

Merrill tried not to be too annoyed that the Keeper didn’t appreciate her ingenuity – or compliment her on seizing an opportunity when it presented itself. ‘Oh, he did take me on a tour,’ Merrill said, ‘but the Hawke Estate is just _so big_! Even Carver himself said he got lost when he first moved in. I’ll _never_ remember how to find my way in there! I think I’ll need to move in and live there for a while to learn my way around. I’ll report back on what I know when I learn it!’

‘You do not realise how dangerous the path that you are treading is, child,’ Keeper Marethari told her. ‘Quite aside from how we Dalish do not dally with humans—’

‘I won’t be “dallying” with him,’ Merrill retorted. ‘We’ll annul the marriage for non-consummation when the time comes.’

The Keeper gave Merrill a stern look, then carried on without acknowledging what Merrill had even said.

‘—Aside from how we don’t dally with humans,’ Marethari continued, with a disapproving voice that often turned Merrill’s insides to jelly, ‘you are going to live at the residence of Garrett Hawke, a man who is ruthless and entirely without mercy. And you are marrying his brother – a former templar, who likely still has sympathies with the Order, and you are a mage. If you ever get caught on your mission, what do you think will happen to you?’

‘But that is the risk I’ve been running ever since I took on this mission,’ Merrill countered. ‘I don’t see how “risking death, again” in order to complete this mission really changes anything.’

‘There has to be another way,’ Marethari insisted. ‘We can find other information, surely, and locate which part of the Hawke Estate the amulet is located in, and you can break in again once we’re certain.’

‘Keeper, it has already taken me so many years and failed attempts to even get as far as finding out Hawke moved it to his Estate in the first place,’ Merrill argued. ‘This is the best plan we have so far, and I can even come back here and make my calls to you and the clan when I need to. I am marrying Carver Hawke, and that is that.’


	4. Chapter 4

The next few weeks were a whirlwind for Merrill. Garrett Hawke, apparently, had been similarly unimpressed with Carver’s plans to marry some Dalish elf that nobody even knew, and certainly nobody _important_ even knew, and Carver seemed to regret the proposal he’d made under the influence of alcohol as little as Merrill did. Besides (as Carver proudly told Merrill he’d pointed out to Garrett), his brother _had_ said Carver was to marry someone who attended the masquerade ball – which was exactly what Carver was doing, even if this hadn’t been what Hawke had planned in the slightest. Merrill rather got the impression her husband-to-be enjoyed the opportunity to stick two fingers up at his brother.

Nonetheless, Merrill was caught up in the busy-ness of wedding planning, for Carver wanted to get married as quickly as possible before his brother could stop the whole thing. After pre-nuptial documents were signed and other marital-related business was attended to, the wedding happened – rather more low-key than the lavish society affair Garrett Hawke would have been planning for his brother’s arranged marriage, but Carver and Merrill seemed equally happy with what they managed in such a short space of time.

Hawke was charming as ever in attendance, and charming as ever in his best man’s speech. Many jokes were made at Carver’s expense in the speech which her new husband bore stoically, even when Hawke threatened to reveal one or two of the more embarrassing contents of a chest Hawke supposedly kept in his bedroom of items from his life in Lothering; items from his and Carver’s lives before they reached Kirkwall. Merrill could tell Garrett Hawke privately disapproved of their wedding all the same (Merrill couldn’t help wondering if Carver disappointed his older brother as much as she disappointed the Keeper), while Varric smugly gave Merrill away with the biggest shit-eating grin on his face.

Merrill loved the white silk Dalish-inspired dress she wore, along with the pretty Dalish-embroidered veil that came with it; and enjoyed her own wedding more than she thought she would. To make their ‘love’ seem authentic, the ceremony was a combination of both Dalish and Andrastian elements, and the wedding reception a mix of Dalish and Ferelden cultures (as much as they _could_ do at such short notice).

There was only one awkward moment in the whole affair… and that was the moment when Carver was told: _You may now kiss the bride_.

For all her plans, Merrill had entirely forgotten about that moment – and had been surprised by the declaration when she shouldn’t have been. Carver, however, played the part of the devoted husband, drawing Merrill to him and kissing her lips so softly, so tenderly, yet passionately, that Merrill couldn’t help but respond – and couldn’t help thinking afterwards that whoever married Carver for real was going to be very lucky. Carver looked as if he was surprised at how much he enjoyed their first kiss, even for a faked romantic performance, but Merrill thought he surely couldn’t be more surprised than Merrill herself.

Still. A kiss was just a kiss, and really, it was only to be expected at a wedding – Merrill wasn’t sure how she could forget it. But – if one public wedding kiss was the most she had to do to perform the part of dutiful wife for a few months, while she learned her way around the Hawke Estate (maybe even occasionally calling him _ma vhenan_ in public to make their ‘love’ look more convincing), Merrill thought she could live with that. And it wasn’t like it was bad. In fact, Merrill thought to herself, as she subtly licked him off her lips without realising she was doing so, it had actually been very nice.

When the wedding was over, and it was time to show Merrill to her rooms at the Hawke Estate, however, she was pleased that when Carver showed her to her own quarters, his own were elsewhere and he didn’t enter her bedroom; he assured her that Orana would fetch her for breakfast in the morning, and thus began Merrill’s married life.

The last thing Merrill did before she went to sleep was take her secret smartphone out of its hiding place, and even though she was sure that Clan Sabrae had sent a spy to ensure everything went smoothly, Merrill texted the Keeper with what happened anyway.

 _Married him. All went well_.

* * *

The next few months were rather uneventful, as far as Merrill’s spying career was concerned. Oh, she frequently went back to her apartment in the alienage, and worked on her mirror as best as she could without the _arulin’holm_ , and let Keeper Marethari know she was alive and well (something she tried not to risk doing from her new marital home). But the rest of her time was spent trying to learn her way around the Hawke Estate – especially its labyrinthine cellars, said to house the largest wine collection Kirkwall had ever seen, leading directly to the Undercity if you knew where you were going.

The morning after she got married, Garrett Hawke made a point of breakfasting with his new sister-in-law, and despite his overt friendliness and polite charm, there was something about the man that left Merrill cold, which made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. Fortunately, such family breakfast affairs were few and far between: Hawke was often out schmoozing with important people in the city from very early until very late, and Carver’s relationship with his brother was so frosty that Merrill suspected that was the reason she often ended up breakfasting with only her husband for company.

She did not mind it; Carver was, surprisingly, nice to her. He was less surly and sullen in her presence when his brother was not around. If anything, he actually seemed to take an interest in her, and in her background, and Merrill didn’t think he was being merely polite – even if she did have to hedge the truth somewhat, for she _couldn’t_ risk him finding out she was spying on him and his brother. But perhaps, she decided, being briefly married to Carver would be far less unpleasant than a part of her feared it would be.

(He also seemed to have grown more handsome than the first two times she’d met him as well; if she had a husband who was kind to her and pleasant to look at, then yes, Merrill rejoiced to herself, this temporary marriage would work very well indeed.)

The one thing that unnerved her, however, was that Carver stared at her. A _lot_. One morning – when he didn’t have to go out for the day to work for the City Guard (Merrill was often left alone a lot during the day, which she didn’t mind), she decided to speak up at last.

‘Is there something on my face?’ Merrill asked her husband over breakfast.

‘Not at all. Want more tea?’ 

‘Thank you,’ she said, as Carver poured out another mug of tea for her (she noted how he was very insistent on doing for himself the things that his brother always allowed the servants to do for him). ‘It’s just that – you keep staring at me.’

He looked at her again, then, perplexed. ‘Do I? Is it bothering you?’

‘No! Well, yes? But also, not really. I – I don’t know. I just wondered why you always stare at me so much, that’s all.’

To her amazement, Carver’s large face went red and blotchy; his expression turned embarrassed, then sulky, then ashamed. ‘I – I don’t know,’ he said. ‘I didn’t realise I did it so much. I’m sorry if it bothers you, Merrill. I’ll try to stop.’

‘But _why_ do you do it?’ Merrill insisted; she really had to know. Did he _really_ not recognise her as the blood mage he fought in the Hawke Enterprises building? ‘I mean, I don’t mind, but I just wondered—’

‘I think you’re pretty.’

Merrill was so shocked at the words Carver blurted out that she was stunned into complete silence; meanwhile Carver sat there, glaring at his mug of tea, face red-hot and looking as if he regretted saying anything at all.

‘Oh,’ Merrill eventually said. ‘Well. I – oh, Merrill. Just shut up, Merrill.’

After a long pause in which none of them spoke, save for the noises of tea being sipped, Carver eventually repeated, ‘I’m sorry, Merrill. I didn’t realise I stared at you so much, and I’m sorry I’m bothering you.’

‘No! No, you’re not! Well. Not now I know why you’re doing it? It’s—’ Merrill desperately wondered how she could salvage the situation, ‘I think it’s – very sweet, actually!’

Carver finally looked up at her, then; he had a small, shy smile on his face, and Merrill couldn’t help smiling back in relief. Maybe it was true that Merrill wasn’t very good with people. But neither, it seemed, was her husband. Perhaps they could learn together, and learn from each other, during the short time they would be married.

‘If – if you must know,’ he said, gently, nervously, ‘I’ve – I’ve always thought you’re pretty. And – and really nice. Ever since we met.’

Merrill laughed; a soft, mushy feeling spread from her stomach and heart through her body, making her tingle, but at the same time, she felt very awkward. ‘But you don’t know me,’ she said. ‘And when we met, I was dressed to the nines for your masquerade ball. I don’t think I’m so pretty when I’m not so dressed up.’

‘No – not that. I mean, ever since the first time. In Varric’s suite. Years ago. I just – I just didn’t know how to talk to you. And – well.’ He gestured to her, to everything she was, sitting in front of him as if she were the most breathtaking view he’d ever seen, and it made Merrill blush. ‘And now here you are.’

Now it was Merrill’s turn to look down, feeling shy, at her perfectly manicured hands. After studying her long fingers and blood-red nails awhile, she realised she should focus on the task in hand. ‘You’re – very sweet, Carver Hawke,’ she began. ‘I truly didn’t think you’d be this sweet to me. I mean – I’m just an elf.’

He looked puzzled. ‘What’s that got to do with anything?’

‘Well,’ she said, thinking carefully how she could approach this, ‘it sounds like elves have really troubled your family over the years. I just thought you’d be more suspicious, that’s all. Many humans would be. Especially in Hightown.’

‘Why would I? They can’t _all_ be involved in whatever plot they’ve got against my brother. And I’ve worked with plenty in the guard. Can’t tar all of one people with the same brush. My family got enough of that when we were Ferelden refugees.’

‘You’re right,’ Merrill said. ‘I’m glad you think so.’

‘I believe my brother caught and killed some of the elves who came after him,’ Carver carried on, and Merrill tried not to wince as she remembered the deaths of Radha, Chandan and Harshal, and how the clan had mourned the fallen, ‘but if he _did_ find out who sent them and why, he didn’t tell me. All I know,’ and here Carver frowned, and clenched his fist, ‘is that if I catch that elf blood mage I fought – she’s dead.’

Merrill tried to compose herself before she spoke again, ignoring the chill that went down her spine. ‘Do you know anything about her?’ she asked, as chirpily as she could. ‘Where she’s from, or why she was there?’

Carver shrugged. ‘I’m gonna guess she’s from the same group of elven spies Garrett caught and killed last time,’ he answered. ‘I don’t know anything else except that I hate that maleficar for what she’s done, and if I find her and catch her again,’ and here he levelled his gaze right at his wife, blue eyes burning, ‘I’ll make her _pay_.’

* * *

‘Well, child?’ Keeper Marethari demanded from her smartphone screen; the light from the phone illuminated the entire room in Merrill’s tiny, darkened alienage apartment. ‘You have been at the Hawke Estate quite some time, now. How are you getting on?’

‘As best as I can, Keeper,’ Merrill replied. ‘I’ve been sending you over maps when I can, and when I’ve figured out which rooms are where.’ She sighed. ‘I’m so sorry it’s taking so long. The Hawke Estate is just as big and confusing as Kirkwall is. Well, maybe _not_ as big as Kirkwall, obviously, but – sometimes it feels like it.’

‘And how is the _shemlen_ treating you?’

‘Carver? He’s been more helpful than he realises. I’m always getting lost, and he always seems to be there to show me the way. And he’s very good at showing me round. No matter how many times I ask, he’s been very patient at taking me whatever or wherever I want to see in the Estate. Of course, if he finds out who I _really_ am, he’ll kill me, but so far – he’s been better than I could have hoped. I’m even starting to find my way around some parts of the place.’

‘Good,’ Keeper Marethari said, and for once Merrill was surprised the Keeper had something positive to say. ‘He sounds like a useful ally, for now, and surprisingly stupid; although do not hesitate to dispose of him the moment he threatens you.’

Merrill nodded at the Keeper’s face on screen, but her heart sank at the thought, and sank still further at the thought of how much he would hate her if he knew her true identity. ‘Yes, Keeper.’

When Merrill arrived back at the Hawke Estate, much later that evening than she’d planned (she really had to thank Varric one day for paying all those thugs to leave her alone at night), she was startled by the sounds of two men arguing in the library. Upon approaching the slightly open door, she realised that the Hawke brothers were yelling at each other – and that the younger brother in particular, from the slurring of his words, had been drinking rather a lot of alcohol.

‘Carver, calm _down_ ,’ Hawke was saying. ‘You’re drunk. We’ll talk about this in the morning.’

‘No,’ Carver insisted, loudly, harshly, erratically, ‘we’ll talk about it _now_. You don’t care, do you? All you’ve ever cared about is yourself. You don’t care about me. You’ve never cared about me – fuck, I bet you never even cared about _any_ of us. I bet _Merrill_ cares about me more than you ever have.’

‘And that’s another thing,’ Merrill heard Garrett shout, as if he was trying to make himself heard over his inebriated younger brother. ‘That wife of yours – an elf from nowhere, Maker knows _why_ Varric invited her to our masquerade ball, that wily dwarf – and with you hoping to sabotage my political chances by marrying _her_ instead of, I don’t know, one of Hightown’s single ladies—’

‘Fuck off,’ Carver slurred. ‘I love her, so you leave her alone.’

There was a pause, and Merrill felt almost as if Hawke was as shocked at his brother’s unexpected declaration as she was.

‘Carver,’ Hawke said, pityingly now. ‘Merrill doesn’t love you. You know that.’

‘I know. I don’t care.’

‘How can you love her – you don’t even _know_ her. Maker, Carver, I know why _you_ married her – your romantic judgement has always been poor – but you don’t know why _she_ married _you_ , do you?’

‘What does it matter? She’s really nice. She’s beautiful. And she’s nicer to me than _you_ are.’

‘And yet,’ Garrett Hawke said, smugly superior now, ‘you’re both planning to annul the marriage for non-consummation when the time is right.’

‘Yeah. Not that that’s any of _your_ business.’

Hawke laughed, nastily, and at the sound of it Merrill wanted to storm in and unleash fury on him for the way he sneered at her husband. She stopped herself in time: Merrill was a powerful mage herself, but so was Garrett Hawke, and perhaps now was not the time to test her magical strength against the city’s most renowned apostate. She had kept her status as a mage well-hidden from Carver, and wanted to keep it hidden for as long as possible. 

‘Oh,’ Hawke said, voice so smooth as to be dangerous. ‘But it so easily _can_ be my business, Carver. I could so easily find out what you’re hiding about your supposedly innocent-looking wife from me…’

‘I’m not hiding anything from you. She doesn’t even know how I feel about her.’

‘Maybe not tonight, Carver. But remember… if I wanted to look inside your mind, I _could_. They say I’m like Father, after all…’

There was a pause, and Merrill desperately tried to hear; she couldn’t tell, but she thought she could hear the swish of clothing, something unidentified against fabric, and then Carver’s aghast, horrified voice.

‘Blood magic? You’re thinking of using blood magic on _me_ , Brother?’

‘Only if it becomes necessary.’ Hawke’s tone was far too casual, and Merrill quietly readied her magic in her hand, ready to burst in and defend her husband if needed. ‘It’s proved useful to me before, and I daresay it’s helped pave the way for where I am now… but fortunately I’ve not needed to use it often. No need to go so pale, Carver,’ Hawke taunted him. ‘You’re safe for tonight. Father might have kept his secret blood magic past from us, but even _he_ understood that – sometimes, you have to do _whatever it takes to get what you most desire_.’

Never had Merrill hated Garrett Hawke more than she had than in that moment; she was starting to come round to Varric’s point of view that Viscount Hawke was the last thing Kirkwall needed.

Hawke didn’t want to improve the city or restore it from its recent troubles. Hawke wanted power for its own sake, and didn’t even care if it meant he trampled on his own fiercely loyal brother to do it. If there was one thing Merrill had never done as a blood mage, it was use her powers to manipulate or control anyone else – even when she’d fought Carver, it was because she’d had her access to the Fade cut off and needed to defend herself – and she was disgusted that Hawke would threaten what was left of his own family.

But voices and footsteps told her that the occupants of the library were about to head out the door, and Merrill realised she couldn’t be caught eavesdropping. She let her magic sink back into herself and scurried away, heart racing, wondering how soon she could relay to the Keeper what she’d found out.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be NSFW smut in this chapter

As if the Keeper’s constant sighing and pinching the bridge of her nose at Merrill’s failures wasn’t bad enough, Merrill had had to put up with a lecture on the evils of blood magic when she tried to warn the Keeper about Garrett Hawke. Sometimes Merrill wondered why she bothered: all the Keeper ever seemed to do was remind her (although not in so many words) what a terrible spy she was, what a terrible First she was, what a terrible mage she was, what an idiot she was to have accidentally married a human, how she was wrong, wrong, wrong all the time.

Even though Merrill was now more determined to map the Hawke Estate than ever – and her diligent work over the next month uncovered the whole Estate to the Keeper and the clan, meaning that any other spy could pick up Merrill’s work if the worst happened – Merrill started to wonder whether her work on the mirror was really worth all this trouble after all.

Her feelings on Carver changed, too: after Merrill had overheard his drunken confession to his brother about his love for her, she really wanted to talk to him about it, but couldn’t possibly tell him she eavesdropped on their argument. So she tried to make up for it by spending more time with him, hoping he would tell her of his own accord; she even attended the few of Garrett Hawke’s political rallies that Carver was present at, playing the part of Carver’s smiling, dutiful wife. 

Unfortunately Carver remained even more frustratingly clammed up than before his argument with his brother, and seemed even more sullen and subdued than usual. Sometimes she thought she caught him staring at her sadly when he thought she wasn’t looking, as if he was pining for what he couldn’t have, and her heart ached for this man who loved her but knew it was unrequited.

What complicated matters further was that Merrill wasn’t so sure it _was_ unrequited, anymore. Merrill was afraid she was starting to feel the same way – and it was dangerous, because if he found out… perhaps even his love for her wouldn’t stop him eliminating her like she was just another elven spy threatening his brother. 

Maybe she should try to complete her work before Hawke’s election – for it now seemed a certainty that he would be Viscount, and Merrill had no desire to put herself in any more danger than she already was. She tried to ignore the pang in her heart at the thought of her marriage of convenience coming to an end; it was for the best, she told herself.

If she could complete her task without Carver ever finding out who she was and disappear, that would be the best thing for them both. They could communicate through lawyers to get the marriage annulled. 

Carver started spending more time at the Viscount’s Keep, as if he was throwing himself into work to avoid something at home; and one night Merrill couldn’t stand it anymore, and when she heard him come back and go straight to his quarters, she followed him. Carver hadn’t even closed the door behind him when he spotted her along the corridor.

‘Hey, Merrill,’ he said, gently; he looked tired, there were dark circles under his eyes, but he still seemed to manage a small, shy smile for her. ‘Are you lost? Need me to walk you to your quarters again?’

‘No,’ Merrill said, smoothing her hands nervously on her pale green nightgown. ‘I just – I came to see how you were.’

He hesitated, then, surprised; but instead of waving her away, he held the door open for her.

‘Why not,’ he eventually said. ‘I could use the company. Come in.’

Carver’s quarters were a lot tidier than Merrill expected, and a lot tidier than her own. A large en-suite bathroom, spotlessly clean, led off from what appeared to be Carver’s even larger study; on Carver’s desk was a photo of them on their wedding day.

He shut the door behind her, and busied himself removing his coat, while she walked over to his desk. ‘I didn’t know you had a photo of us getting married on your desk,’ she said.

‘It’s a nice photo,’ was all Carver replied, weakly; and something in the way he said it, the way he was holding back, made her stomach flutter like mad.

But no, she told herself. That wasn’t why she was here. (Or was it? Creators, it was hard to tell, anymore.)

‘Carver,’ Merrill began. ‘I know you’re – hurting about something. Please… tell me.’

Carver sighed, and didn’t reply for the longest time. He walked across the room and sat down on his bed, and Merrill, feeling bold, went to sit next to him.

‘It’s… nothing you should worry about,’ he began. ‘I just… Brother let me down some weeks back. _I’ve_ always known the value of family, but – well. I suppose Garrett doesn’t. Or maybe Garrett’s right, and he’s more like Father than I thought.’

Merrill did not want to let on that she knew exactly what he was talking about. ‘I thought you said your father was a good man?’

‘He was,’ Carver said quickly, ‘even if he did a thing that was… misguided. But… my brother is different. I mean, they’re both _mages_ , but my brother is…’ He swallowed. ‘Anyway. We don’t need to go into that now. It’s late.’

‘Are you sure that’s the only thing bothering you?’ Merrill couldn’t help asking.

Carver finally looked at her, and Merrill couldn’t be sure, but she thought he was looking her up and down in her nightgown, and her heart ached again. Her husband might officially be her enemy, but… she _did_ find him handsome. And he’d always been kind to her. And… it was warm in here, and it was late, and it was so very hard to think properly…

‘It’s nothing you need to worry about,’ he said, softly, ‘and it’s not your fault.’ 

‘You can tell me,’ Merrill gently insisted. ‘We’re in this together. Well. For now, anyway.’ 

‘ _For now_.’ His voice had a bitter edge to it, but then Carver seemed to recollect himself; when he spoke again, his tone had softened again. ‘It’s not your fault, Merrill. You feel what you feel, and… I can’t make you feel something you don’t.’ 

‘I—’ She took a deep breath. ‘Maybe I… maybe I _do_ feel something I don’t. Or shouldn’t.’ Another deep breath; she couldn’t look at him, couldn’t meet his eyes— ‘Carver – if you – if you want me to stay with you tonight—’

‘I’d love that,’ he breathed, and Merrill’s eyes met his again: blue, burning with desire. ‘I – there’s only one bed in here, though—’

‘—I don’t mind,’ Merrill said; breathing had suddenly got very difficult, and either he was panting, or she was—

Merrill didn’t know who made the first move. Suddenly Carver’s lips were on hers, soft, gentle, tender, almost like the kiss they’d shared at their wedding, but now there was _yearning_ behind it, there was want and need and all the other things they’d denied and starved the other of…

‘Maker,’ Carver whispered, when they first broke it off. ‘I’ve wanted to do that ever since I kissed you on our wedding day. Before that, maybe. I just – never wanted to force myself on you, never wanted you to do something you don’t want…’

Merrill whined, and pulled him towards her to kiss him again. She parted his mouth with her own, eagerly tasting his tongue as it glided so wetly over hers, like a drink long denied. Before long they tumbled down onto his bed, Carver on top of her, grinding his erection through his trousers into her. Merrill opened her legs and _groaned_ at the feeling of him there, and _oh_ , why had she deprived herself of this all this time? He was beautiful and he was perfect and she _wanted him_ and he felt so good, his mouth trailing down her jaw, her neck, slipping the shoulder straps of her nightgown down so he could kiss his way towards her breasts…

‘Take off your clothes,’ she breathed, pushing him gently away. He did as he was told while she giddily pulled her nightgown off – and presently they were naked, taking in the sight of each other greedily, hungrily.

‘You are so beautiful,’ Carver told her, awestruck, cupping her jaw before kissing her again. 

Merrill sighed as his large hands ran down her body, caressing her like she was the most precious gift he’d ever received. He was on her again now, skin against skin, and the sensation was exquisite. His scent aroused her further; it was _intoxicating_. Merrill wanted _everything_ , wanted to kiss him again and again, wanted to lick him all over with her little tongue, wanted him on her, wanted him _in_ her.

 _Oh_ , how she desired him.

Denial had been difficult these past few months, knowing full well the feelings that had been budding inside her since early in her marriage – before their marriage, for him – only to find them in full bloom now, thirsty and desperate to be satiated by the other, hands and lips and tongues everywhere. _Creators_ , what a relief and a thrill it was to feel him at last, to smooth her palms over every plane and bulge of his muscles, to feel him kiss her all over. His lips gave her goosebumps of pleasure with each touch, tongue lapping her nipples before he gently, tentatively, worked his mouth down her body, savouring every part of her before swirling his tongue around the pink nub down there.

Merrill gasped, and Carver chuckled. The vibrations of his voice against her pussy made her moan and arch her back.

‘Always wanted to do that,’ he said triumphantly, before dropping a quick kiss on her clit and getting back to work with his tongue, flicking it from side to side until she hissed in pleasure. He licked his way around her pussy, tentatively sliding his tongue inside her hole, making his own noises of satisfaction like she had the most delicious juices he’d ever tasted, before licking his way back up to her clitoris. Merrill choked back a sob of happiness.

‘Don’t _stop_ , Carver,’ she begged him, voice ragged; and her husband obeyed her, like he was determined to make sure she came undone because of him, all for him. It was working: Merrill arched her back again, feeling the pressure build up inside her, her orgasm about to erupt any moment now. 

When Merrill climaxed for the first time that night, she was _loud_ ; she couldn’t help herself. Wave upon wave of pleasure crested through her, her clit the epicentre of her ecstasy as she cried out again and again. Her little fists bunched in the sheets beside her, as she gasped and writhed in her joy, until eventually it all died down, and Merrill came back to herself, a quiet bliss spreading through her body. Carver licked her moisture off his lips in satisfaction, and lay beside her. He pulled her towards him for a kiss, but Merrill was in no mood to indulge him for too long before making sure he’d had his own pleasure – and had it deep inside her. 

‘You’re demanding tonight,’ he laughed, as she pushed him onto his back. ‘One climax not enough, huh?’

‘No,’ Merrill said, shortly; and sank down onto his thick, erect cock, moaning in pleasure at the feel of it inside her. Carver’s cock was large, but Merrill had been so wet for him for so long that he was everything she could take, and everything she wanted. By the way her husband groaned, he loved the feel of her around his cock just as much as she loved having the feel of him inside her – despite his girth he slid into her easily, and _Creators_ , she felt so nice and full down below. He put his large hands around her waist and hips as she began to ride him.

Carver thrust inside her gently, but for the most part he let her take control. Pace, depth, it was all up to her, for he was content to lie back and watch his beautiful wife move herself up and down his cock, her sweet pussy dripping with her pleasure. She observed him watching her as she reached down and started to touch herself. (For Carver, everything about her was amazing; everything about her turned him on: breasts, body, face, voice, even the way her mind worked – even the way she took charge of him right now.) Merrill held onto one of his biceps to steady herself while rubbing her clit with the other, then she cried out in orgasm for the second time. The feeling of her clenching around his cock brought him over the edge. It was sweet, blessed relief and pleasure to climax inside his elven wife, to spill deep inside her as they both became one.

Merrill gently collapsed on top of him, filled, fulfilled. Carver held her and kissed her awhile, and when he finally spoke it was a whisper of awe and reverence.

‘My wife,’ was all he murmured at her, pride and joy and love in his eyes.

Merrill smiled, happily, and kissed him again.

For the rest of the night they lay there on Carver’s bed, eyes closed, stroking and holding each other until sleep overcame them.

* * *

Merrill woke up the next morning in Carver’s arms. It seemed Carver had awoken some time before her, for he was thoughtfully stroking her hair like it seemed to soothe him by doing so.

‘Morning, beautiful,’ he smiled at her when she finally roused herself and blinked at him. ‘Hope you slept well in my bed.’

Merrill laid a gentle kiss on his lips – Creators, _why_ had she deprived herself of him for so long; now she never wanted to stop – before answering. ‘I did,’ she confirmed. ‘Although I… wasn’t expecting last night.’

He chuckled. ‘To be honest, neither was I. I didn’t know you felt that way about me, Merrill. But I’m not sorry you do.’

Merrill giggled and kissed him again. ‘We shouldn’t have done it, though.’

‘What, because we can’t annul our marriage now we’ve consummated it?’

‘Well… yes.’

‘Whoops,’ was all Carver said, but he was grinning, and Merrill couldn’t help giggling again. Dimly, Merrill thought to herself of Marethari’s horror and disgust if she ever found out… but that was a worry for another day. Right now she had just woken up from a night of wonderful sex with a man she was definitely falling in love with, and lying here in his arms, seeing him smile at her, it was hard for Merrill to remember why that was meant to be so wrong.

Making love for the first time unleashed something in them both. Merrill and Carver barely left Carver’s suite for the next few days, doing nothing but chatting, kissing, giggling and satisfying their sexual desires again and again and again. Bodahn and Sandal, the Estate’s dwarven servants, brought up food and thoughtfully left it outside. Merrill had never felt such bliss in her life as she did with this man.

He wasn’t _really_ her enemy, Merrill thought to herself after she’d climaxed around his cock for the umpteenth time. His brother was the one who had stolen the amulet, and Carver didn’t even know about it. He probably didn’t even know where in the mansion it _was_. If she were a proper spy, she’d be cynically seducing him for the purpose of finding this out – or perhaps even seducing his brother. But Merrill was a terrible spy, had always been a terrible spy, and for all she knew he was seducing _her_ and she was happily allowing it. (It felt _so good_ , after all. And they were _married_! Wasn’t this what married couples were _supposed_ to do?)

So many days passed before Merrill contacted the Keeper again with an update that when she eventually _did_ , Marethari was raging.

‘A week,’ the Keeper said, her voice icy. ‘We didn’t hear from you for an entire week!’

‘I’m so sorry, Keeper,’ Merrill said, trying to look as apologetic as possible. ‘I… was busy.’

‘So I heard,’ the Keeper said, drily. ‘I see you’re wearing your wedding ring for once.’

Merrill flushed. ‘Well I _am_ married,’ she replied, voice defiant. ‘Of _course_ I sometimes wear my wedding ring.’

The Keeper’s grey eyes bored into her, and Merrill sat down; she could feel her knees turning into jelly again.

‘I have never seen you wear it,’ the Keeper slowly pronounced. ‘And neither has the occasional Sabrae Clan visitor to Kirkwall when they have seen you.’

 _Mythal’enaste_. Merrill sighed. ‘If you’re going to lecture me, Keeper,’ she said, ‘you may as well get it over with. But what’s done is done, and I can’t take it back.’

‘So the rumours are true, then,’ Marethari said, nose wrinkled in distaste and voice dripping disapproval. ‘You slept with Carver Hawke.’

‘And if I did, what of it? He’s nicer to me than the clan ever was.’ _He’s nicer to me than_ you _ever were_ , Merrill wanted to add, but decided not to.

‘I presume, then,’ the Keeper said, so calmly that Merrill could tell she was furious, ‘that you have no intention of annulling your marriage like you so faithfully promised.’

Merrill sighed again. ‘An annulment _might_ be tricky,’ she admitted. ‘But I doubt he’ll want to remain married after we’ve – I’ve – stolen the amulet back. Not that he seems to know about it.’

The Keeper’s lips drew into a thin line. ‘At this rate, will we even _get_ the amulet back,’ she said. ‘This is not the only promise you have broken, Merrill, and certainly not the only time you have botched this mission. And now you’ve ruined your own plans – plans I did not even approve of or authorise – to cancel your own marriage to the Hawke boy. A human. And a _templar_.’

‘I do _know_ he was a templar, Keeper. And I’m aware he’s human, too. Contrary to what you and the rest of the clan think, I’m not _entirely_ stupid.’

‘I fail to see,’ Marethari pointed out, ‘how you are planning to annul a marriage for non-consummation, if you have consummated it.’

‘You know, Keeper, if all you’re going to do is lecture me for having sex with a man I’m married to, we can hang up now. I really don’t mind.’

‘As it happens,’ the Keeper continued, seeing that Merrill wasn’t going to back down or feel guilty for what she’d done, ‘I have an update for _you_. Providing, of course, you are not too busy sleeping with the enemy to hear it.’

Merrill’s ears perked up enough that she could ignore the Keeper’s last remark. ‘Really?’

‘We know where in the Hawke Estate the amulet is.’ The Keeper paused; if it was for dramatic effect, Merrill thought, all it did was serve to annoy her. ‘It is in a chest in Garrett Hawke’s bedroom. He keeps a lot of old things from Lothering in it.’

Merrill gasped. ‘But – oh, Creators. Of _course_. It’s all so obvious now. Hawke even _mentioned_ that chest at our wedding, how he had items in there from the Hawke family’s life before they came to Kirkwall. I thought he was just making a mean joke at Carver’s expense. But – how do I get in? I barely even _speak_ to Hawke. He’s usually out and about making Kirkwall love him. Especially with the election happening so soon.’

‘Well,’ Marethari said, before hanging up, ‘it seems you have plenty of opportunities to get at it, then.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you click on the chest in Hawke's bedroom in the Hawke Estate, one of the lines Hawke says is "Lots of old things from Lothering in there", and another is: "I could have left the amulet in there and forgotten all about it. What would the old witch have done _then_?" That second line was definitely one of the inspirations for this fic XD


	6. Chapter 6

This time when she stole the amulet, Merrill would wear no disguise. She couldn’t exactly break in wearing her usual dark suit, obscuring all of her appearance save her eyes. No, as a resident of the Hawke Estate, Merrill merely had to find a reason to be in Garrett Hawke’s bedroom in the first place. And she somehow had to do it on a night that she wouldn’t be sleeping in Carver’s quarters too, or he would wonder why she was missing. This was tricky, given that they now appeared to be in some sort of happy ‘honeymoon phase’ of their arranged marriage. While Carver was very adoring and loving, it did make plans to be away from the estate at night – especially now Merrill hardly slept alone anymore – that much harder.

An opportunity soon presented itself, however, when – after the election – Hawke was due to be away at another soirée he was holding at the Hawke Enterprises headquarters, celebrating Hawke’s ascension, finally, to the position of Viscount of Kirkwall. All Merrill had to do was pretend she was unwell, and Carver, ever loving and ever-concerned, told her she didn’t have to attend this public event with him. He would go as Hawke’s unofficial bodyguard while she could stay at home and focus on getting better.

Merrill smiled languidly as he fussed over her, but once he kissed her goodbye and left, she texted Varric.

 _It’s on tonight. Make sure my path to Sundermount is clear_. 

It was so simple that even Merrill could do it. All she had to do was pretend she was lost again – the household staff knew her well enough and had seen her get lost enough times that it was plausible – raid the chest in Hawke’s bedroom, steal the amulet, bring it to Sundermount, and then return to the Hawke Estate before anyone noticed her missing. Varric would, as he had done for so many years while she lived in Kirkwall, pay the street thugs to leave her alone that night, minimising her chances of failing in her task or getting in a fight.

As it turned out, finding Hawke’s bedroom was harder for Merrill than actually breaking into the chest. However, none of the staff found her and nobody tried to stop her. Merrill frowned. Where were the Hawke family’s security? Were they _really_ all at the Hawke Enterprises event?

The chest was easy to locate, and even easier to blast open with magic. The amulet glowed inside, pulsing with magic, and glittering somewhat sinisterly when it dimmed. After she pocketed the item, she walked nonchalantly out of Hawke’s bedroom, leapt up onto the chandelier that overlooked the landing, and swung off it and out of the open window before anyone saw her.

The path to Sundermount was bleak and barren, lit only by the full moon in an eerie parallel of the night she last broke into the Hawke Enterprises headquarters. Once Merrill was beyond the bounds of Kirkwall she broke into a run; she was determined to get this amulet to Keeper Marethari no matter what happened to her afterwards.

Once Merrill had reached the clan, Keeper Marethari was thankfully awake to receive Asha’bellanar’s amulet. She stared at it in amazement for a long time, turning it over and over in her hands, before she spoke.

‘It is indeed the amulet,’ she pronounced in surprise, as some of the rest of the clan gathered round to inspect it. ‘Well done, Merrill. I often despaired that this day would come, and I did not expect _you_ to be the one to retrieve this. I will need to take this to the altar on the hill without delay, and invoke the Rite for the Departed.’

‘Keeper, I have completed the task you set me after I invoked _vir sulevanan_ ,’ Merrill interrupted her, before she went. ‘Do I not get the _arulin’holm_ so I can complete my work on the mirror?’

The Keeper turned around and looked at her, a regretful expression on her face. ‘I suppose I should,’ she admitted. ‘I will consider it; come back in the morning. I have half a mind to give it to someone else for safekeeping, and let _them_ decide whether you should have it. In fact, I would have entrusted it to Hawke, if he were more trustworthy, and let him decide whether to give it to you or not.’

And with that, the Keeper swept out into the night to belatedly fulfil her end of the bargain she promised Asha’bellanar all those years ago, leaving Merrill standing there feeling crushed and rather stupid.

* * *

If Merrill was angry at the Keeper letting her down so badly, after everything she went through to get her the amulet in the first place, it could only be comparable to the anger, and hurt, and betrayal, that Garrett and Carver Hawke felt upon returning to the Hawke Estate and finding out a chest in Hawke’s bedroom had been raided.

‘Was anything else taken?’ Carver demanded of Bodahn, after Garrett shot upstairs to review the damage.

‘None whatsoever,’ Bodahn replied. ‘If anything inside the chest was taken, then I don’t know about it, ser.’

Carver went up to Garrett’s bedroom, only to find his brother sitting on the bed, as white as a sheet. In his hand was a chest that could only have been blasted open by…

‘Magic,’ Carver said. ‘A mage broke into that chest.’

‘Not just any old mage,’ Hawke replied. ‘I found – this wedding ring on the floor by the chest.’

Carver inspected the small ring, meant for a very slender ring-finger, and realised he recognised it...

‘But wait.’ Carver was confused. ‘That’s Merrill’s ring.’

Hawke laughed, bitterly. ‘Something you want to tell me about your _wife_ , Carver?’

Carver stared at his brother, bewildered by how in the Void his beloved wife figured into this, until he grasped what his brother was implying.

‘But – wait – Merrill – is she a _mage?_ ’

‘You tell me. _You’re_ the templar. I know Kirkwall’s templars were never very observant, but I thought you were meant to be one of the better ones.’

‘No,’ Carver said, his heart dropping through his stomach. ‘No, I can’t believe it.’ 

He started to pace around the room, Merrill’s tiny wedding ring in his fingers, barely noticing that Garrett wasn’t reacting much, for once. Merrill – a _mage_. And he – a _templar_ – didn’t even know. Didn’t even _notice_. He’d made love to her and he trusted her, and she’d shattered that trust so completely that it took all of Carver’s self-control to stay here, in Garrett’s room, right now. His brother needed him. Merrill didn’t need him; she’d either dropped her wedding ring when stealing from Garrett, or flung it away before skipping into the night. If the latter, then she _definitely_ didn’t need Carver. Not anymore.

But if Merrill was a mage – and if she’d broken into Garrett’s property—

‘She – she was one of _them_ , all this time,’ Carver realised aloud. ‘The elves breaking into the Hawke Enterprises offices. She—’ Carver’s stomach turned as further comprehension dawned. ‘FUCK. She was the blood mage who fought me. _Must_ have been.’

‘Well,’ Hawke said, putting the chest to one side, still pale with some sort of fear, but trying to remain composed. ‘I guess she betrayed you.’

‘What was she after? Company secrets?’

‘No, I—’ Hawke sighed. ‘Carver, you remember the old witch’s amulet I was meant to take to those elves on Sundermount?’

‘Yeah. You took it to them, didn’t you?’

For the first time in Carver Hawke’s memory, Garrett Hawke had the decency to look utterly shamefaced, and when the penny dropped, Carver realised his trust had been betrayed for the second time that night.

‘…you _didn’t_ ,’ he finished. ‘So _that’s_ what the elves have been trying to steal all this time. You were meant to give them Flemeth’s amulet – she even told you their Keeper was expecting it – and you… _left it in this chest all this time_.’ 

Carver could not recall a time he had ever been this angry or felt this betrayed by his brother; and it was further compounded by the hurt and rage and betrayal that Merrill had caused him. Even when Garrett threatened to use blood magic to see inside his mind, maybe even control it, Carver… hadn’t _forgiven_ his brother, not like all those other times he forgave his brother, but had definitely buried it as far down in his mind as he could. But now… 

Carver had always been unlucky in love. He was now even unlucky in his choice of wife: a woman he still adored, in his anguish and pain and devastation, even after she’d used him – used his love, used his body, used his proximity to Hawke – before betraying him, and (probably) leaving him for good. But this time… for once, this entire mess was squarely his brother’s fault. 

‘I thought I’d try and harness its power,’ Garrett explained. ‘But without it – if the amulet has indeed gone to the clan at Sundermount… I’m done for.’

‘Well, why do you care,’ Carver said, bitterly. ‘You’re Viscount now. You’ve got everything you ever wanted, and you didn’t even need to resort to blood magic during the election campaign to do it.’

‘You’ve got to help me, Carver.’ Suddenly Garrett looked like a frightened child, instead of the tall, imposing, threatening older brother Carver had always seen him as. ‘Never mind your wife – we can dispose of her later – we’ve got to make sure she didn’t get the amulet to Sundermount and unleashed what was in it.’

But Carver wasn’t listening; when Garrett followed his brother’s eyes, he could see that out of the window, somewhere in the direction of the mountains, was a white light so blinding that even though Hightown was a safe distance from it, both Hawke brothers had to look away.

‘I think it’s too late,’ Carver quietly told him. ‘I think Merrill succeeded in her mission. And Flemeth’s revenge on you is gonna be terrible. Even blood magic can’t help you now, Brother.’

Garrett sank to his knees and began to howl.

* * *

Merrill didn’t bother staying with the clan, and she didn’t go back to the Hawke Estate. All she wanted to do was run. Run far away, away from the clan and Carver and everyone she knew and never come back.

The only problem was that it was night-time, and she _had_ to go somewhere. To get sleep, if nothing else. But she definitely didn’t want to stay among the elves. Not after her trust had been betrayed after so many years, when the Keeper went back on her promise. 

But when Merrill returned to Kirkwall, broken and battered from betrayal, sirens were blaring; the City Guard were out in full force in their cars, racing past, and Merrill had never seen so many of them. As she passed into Lowtown, puzzled further still at their heavy presence on the roads, she passed Captain Aveline Vallen, patrolling the pavement on foot, reporting into a walkie-talkie. 

‘A break-in at the Hawke Estate,’ Aveline was saying; when her gaze was cast Merrill’s way, Merrill made sure she ducked into an alleyway to avoid being spotted, shading her eyes so they didn’t glow in the dark. ‘It’s believed the fugitive headed in the direction of Sundermount. Ser Carver Hawke is armed and headed over there with a complement of men right now. Never seen him look so enraged.’ 

Well. That settled that – she was right not to stay with the clan tonight, but… Merrill could not return to the Hawke Estate. 

Instead, Merrill went straight to Varric’s suite at the Hanged Man, for all she wanted right now was a friendly shoulder to cry on, and maybe somewhere to hide. For all she knew, Carver had found out what happened and was now hunting for her, ready to kill her now that he knew who she was.

Varric clucked sympathetically as Merrill wept into the pillows in his suite, for even at this hour, clad in stripy pale-blue and white pyjamas and fluffy nightcap, was he ready to listen to Merrill’s troubles.

‘I cannot believe Marethari went back on her word!’ Merrill raged, through tears. ‘And to say she would have given the _arulin’holm_ to Hawke, if she was able to trust him! A _human_! He’s not even one of the People! And to think I married Carver – and betrayed him – for all of this! Pointless, stupid, stubborn—’

‘Hey, hey,’ Varric said, as Merrill dissolved into fresh tears. ‘I think right now, Daisy, you need some sleep. We’ll think about this in the morning.’ 

Varric had a spare room with a mattress for such occasions; Isabela was said to make frequent use of it when she’d had one too many, but tonight, Merrill was grateful that the pirate wasn’t already passed out there for once. It was likely Merrill would be needing to stay here for at least a few days, crying on her friend’s shoulder some more and planning how she’d save her skin. Or maybe she should give it all up, and accept her fate: to let Carver finish her off like he should have done when they fought in his brother’s office so many months ago. 

When Merrill opened her eyes one morning a few days later, after several poor nights’ sleep in Varric’s spare room and much crying and raging, the dwarf was peering over her.

‘Daisy,’ he said. ‘You’ve got a visitor.’

‘Tell them to go away,’ she answered.

‘I _could_ ,’ Varric said, ‘but I believe he’s your husband. You… might wanna talk to him.’

Merrill sat bolt upright. Despite the warm duvet, she suddenly went cold all over, and her heart leapt into her throat. ‘He’s going to kill me, Varric, isn’t he.’

‘Mmmm, I don’t think so. Well. That’s not what he told me. And he’s not armed.’ 

‘Well, he doesn’t need to be. He’s a dangerous man even without weapons. I fought him, Varric, remember?’ 

‘I know you did, Daisy. But I don’t think Junior’s here to fight. I’ll watch him just in case. And I’ll text Isabela in case we need her too. OK?’

Eventually Merrill sighed and got up. Carver strode into the suite, and sat on the opposite side of the table to her. Merrill had never been so miserable to see him, and tears sprang to her eyes.

‘Carver,’ she began, ‘I’m so sorry, I—’

Carver waved away her apology, looking angry and sullen and… _hurt_. Knowing she’d hurt him, knowing she’d had to betray him, cut Merrill more than anything.

‘So,’ he began, without preamble. ‘ _You_ were the spy in my brother’s office recently. The elven mage. The _blood mage_.’

Merrill nodded miserably.

‘I didn’t mean to hurt you,’ she said. ‘But my magic was cut off… I didn’t _want_ to use blood magic on you, Carver. I just wanted to defend myself and get out of there.’

‘And Flemeth’s amulet was what you were after all this time? Not anything else?’

‘Definitely not anything else. Your brother betrayed our clan. He was meant to deliver us the amulet, but he never did, so our clan sent spies over the years to steal it back. Your brother killed three of the clan’s best before I was sent on the job. But it was only after I broke into his office I learned he’d moved the amulet back to the Hawke Estate.’

Merrill hesitated. She didn’t want to tell him the next bit, but she owed Carver the truth. Even though it was going to break his heart.

‘I’m so sorry, Carver. I married you for convenience.’

‘That’s true. We both married each other for convenience.’ He glared at her. ‘I know why I married you. And I’ve worked out now why you married _me_. But I want to hear it from you. Why did you marry me?’

Merrill's face crumpled, and her vision spilled; when she spoke, her voice came out small, tearful. ‘I married you to gain access to the Hawke Estate for my mission.’

‘So I meant nothing to you, then. You coldly married me, even slept with me, all for the purposes of getting the amulet. You didn’t care about me at any point whatsoever.’

Merrill sniffled. ‘I… didn’t sleep with you for that, Carver. I may not have cared about you at first – and even _you_ were marrying me to get back at Hawke; you know that. But – I did come to care for you.’ She sniffled again. ‘I still do, even though I understand you’ll want nothing to do with me, now.’

Carver said nothing at first, regarding her coldly as she sobbed, before eventually putting something that looked like a curved Dalish dagger on the table. Merrill’s eyes widened in recognition and amazement. 

‘You know, I actually went to the clan,’ he said. ‘To find out where you were, maybe even yell at you, but you weren’t there. Your Keeper seemed to think you’d gone back to the Hawke Estate, and gave me this.’ He gestured to the knife he’d laid before him. ‘I don’t know what it is. But your Keeper said she’d promised to give it to you, then didn’t – and that you’d left the clan over her broken promise. So she passed it to me, to give to you at my discretion.’

‘I can’t believe she just gave _you_ the _arulin’holm_ ,’ Merrill cried. ‘She’s never trusted me with anything. Even after I succeeded in a mission where others didn’t. So I left the clan. They made my life miserable anyway.’ 

Silence fell between them, then, and Merrill wiped her eyes before speaking again. ‘I’m sure you hate me for betraying you like I did, Carver. I – I don’t blame you. But – before you do anything – I want you to know I was happy with you. I married you at first for my mission when you gave me the opportunity, but… I stayed married because I fell in love with you. I never lied to you about my feelings, Carver. Even if I had to lie about everything else. I’m so sorry.’ 

She dissolved into fresh tears. ‘I hated betraying you. And I – don’t blame you for what I am sure you’ll want to do next.’ 

To her surprise, Carver’s face seemed to soften. His gaze was more sympathetic now, and when he spoke it was… not what Merrill expected. 

‘You were not the only person who betrayed me that night,’ he finally said. ‘If Garrett had just given your clan the amulet like he was supposed to, none of this would have happened. I didn’t even know he hadn’t given it back until you stole it. He’d been hoping to harness its power to assist his own rise to the top all these years.’ Carver snorted. ‘As if him being a blood mage wasn’t enough. My father dabbled in blood magic himself, once, years before I was born, but nothing like this.’ 

‘I’m so sorry,’ Merrill said. ‘That must have been hard for you to find out. Especially as you didn’t know about the amulet, and trusted that your brother had kept his promise all this time.’ 

Carver sighed. ‘Yeah. But – now I know what he’s capable of, I guess. Even threatening to use blood magic on _me_. I’d never kill my own brother, but… if he goes too far, I might be the only one who can stop him.’ 

Merrill didn’t know where this conversation was leading, especially when he seemed to regard her in the tender way he always did (she could not allow herself that hope), but she thought perhaps it was time to put it to an end, and face whatever came next. ‘I sincerely wish you luck,’ she said. ‘And – thank you for the _arulin’holm_. You didn’t have to, but – _ma serannas_.’

‘There is another thing I want to give to you.’ Carver rummaged in one of his pockets. ‘But this one’s your choice. I… might need your help in taking down my brother now he’s Viscount. But—’ and here Carver placed her wedding ring on the table, ‘I’ll leave it up to you if you want to come back. Your quarters at the Hawke Estate – which I now run, now that my brother has moved to the Viscount’s Keep – are still yours, if you want them. If you still want to remain married to me, that is.’

Merrill picked up her wedding ring, twiddling it in amazement. ‘So… does that mean you forgive me? After everything I’ve done?’

‘Well, now that I know why you did it, and that you weren’t trying to kill me?’ Carver smiled crookedly at her. ‘I know it’s stupid, but I do. I love you, Merrill. And – if you love me, if you want to be my wife… I want to be your husband. But only if you want to stay married to me.’

Merrill slipped on the ring and threw herself at her husband, flinging her arms around him in delight, kissing him all over his large, beaming face, laughing as he kissed her back. ‘Yes,’ she replied. ‘I do.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And then she said "I do" XD 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading my fic - I do hope you enjoyed it! Comments and kudos are always welcome and I'd be delighted to hear your thoughts! 
> 
> Feel free to come say hello at [hollyand-writes.tumblr.com](http://hollyand-writes.tumblr.com) \- and don't forget to check out the other excellent works from this year's [Black Emporium Rare-Pair Exchange](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/BlackEmporium2020)!


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